Ayla pulled out several plants by the roots and plucked off the long thin leaves as she walked. "Ayla," the woman said. "Those roots send up new plants every year. If you pull the roots there will be no plants here next summer. It's best just to pick off the leaves if you have no use for the roots."

"I didn't think about that," Ayla said contritely. "I won't do it again."

"Even if you use the roots, it's best not to dig them all up from one place. Always leave some to grow more."

They doubled back toward the stream, and when they came to a marshy spot, Iza pointed out another plant. "This is sweet rush. It looks something like iris, but it's not the same. The boiled root made into a wash soothes burns, and chewing the roots sometimes helps toothaches, but you must be careful when giving it to a pregnant woman. Some women have lost their babies from drinking the juice, though I've never had much luck with it when I gave it to a woman for that purpose. It can help an upset stomach, especially constipation. You can tell the difference by this growth here," Iza pointed. "It's called a corm, and the plant smells stronger, too."

They stopped and rested in the shade of a broad-leafed maple near the stream. Ayla took a leaf, curled it into the shape of a cornucopia, folded up the bottom and tucked it under her thumb, then dipped up a cool drink from the stream. She brought a drink for Iza in the makeshift cup before throwing it away.

"Ayla," the woman began after finishing the drink. "You should do as Broud tells you, you know. He is a man, it's his right to command you."

"I do everything he tells me," she countered defensively.

Iza shook her head. "But you don't do it the way you should. You defy him, you provoke him. Someday you may regret it, Ayla. Broud will be leader one day. You must do what the men say, all the men. You are a woman, you have no choice."

"Why should men have the right to command women? What makes them better? They can't even have babies!" she gestured bitterly, feeling rebellious.

"That's the way it is. That's the way it has always been in the Clan. You are Clan now, Ayla. You are my daughter. You must behave as a girl of the Clan should."

Ayla hung her head, feeling guilty. Iza was right, she did provoke Broud. What would have happened to her if Iza had not found her? If Brun had not let her stay? If Creb had not made her Clan? She looked at the woman, the only mother she could remember. Iza had aged. She was thin and drawn. The flesh of her once-muscular arms hung from her bones and her brown hair was almost gray. Creb had seemed so old to her at first, but he had hardly changed at all. It was Iza who looked old now, older than Creb. Ayla worried about Iza, but whenever she said anything, the woman put her off.

"You're right, Iza," the child said. "I haven't behaved the way I should to Broud. I'll try harder to please him."

The toddler Ayla was carrying began to squirm. She looked up, suddenly bright-eyed. "Uba hungry," she motioned, then stuffed a chubby fist into her mouth.

Iza glanced at the sky. "It's getting late, and Uba's hungry. We'd better start back," she gestured.

I wish Iza were strong enough to go out with me more often, Ayla said to herself as they hurried back to the cave. Then we could spend more time with each other, and I always learn so much more when she's with me.

Though Ayla tried to live up to her decision to please Broud, she found her resolution hard to keep. She had fallen into the habit of not paying attention to him, knowing he would turn to someone else or do it himself if she didn't move quickly. His dark looks held no fear for her, she felt secure from his wrath. She did stop trying to provoke him on purpose, but her impertinence had become a habit, too. For too long had she looked up at him instead of bowing her head, ignoring him instead of scurrying to do his bidding; it was automatic. Her unconscious disdain grated on him worse than her attempts to annoy him. He felt she had no respect for him. It wasn't respect for him she had lost, it was fear.

The time when cold winds and heavy snows would force the clan into the cave again was drawing near. Ayla hated to see the leaves starting to turn, though autumn's brilliant display always captivated her and its rich harvest of fruits and nuts kept the women busy. Ayla had little time to climb to her secret retreat during the last rush to lay in a supply of fall's harvest, but the time pa.s.sed so quickly she hardly noticed until near the end of the season.

The pace finally slowed and one day she strapped on her basket, took her digging stick, and climbed to her hidden clearing once more, planning to collect hazelnuts. The moment she arrived, she shrugged her basket off her back and went inside the cave for her sling. She had furnished her playhouse with a few implements she had made and an old sleeping fur. She took a birchbark cup from a flattish piece of wood stretched across two large rocks that also held a few sh.e.l.l dishes, a flint knife, and some rocks she used to crack nuts. Then she got her sling from the covered wicker basket where she kept it. After getting a drink from the spring, she ran along the creek looking for pebbles.

She made a few practice shots. Vorn doesn't hit his targets as often as I do, she thought, pleased with herself when her stones landed where she aimed them. After a while, she grew tired of the sport, put her sling and the last few pebbles away, and began to pick up the nuts scattered on the ground beneath the thick, gnarled old bushes. She was thinking how wonderful life was. Uba was growing and thriving and Iza seemed much better. Creb's aches and pains were always less severe in the warm summers and she loved the slow shambling walks with him beside the stream. Playing with the sling was a game she loved and she had become quite skillful with it. It was almost too easy to hit the post or the rocks and branches she sighted as targets, but there was still an excitement about playing with the forbidden weapon. And best of all, Broud didn't bother her at all anymore. She didn't think anything could ever spoil her happiness as she filled her gathering basket with nuts.

Brown, dry leaves were caught by the brisk winds as they fell from the trees, whirled around by their unseen partner, and dropped gently to the ground. They covered the nuts still scattered beneath those trees that had brought them to maturity. Fruit not picked for winter storage hung ripe and heavy on branches bereft of foliage. The eastern steppes were a golden sea of grain, rippled by wind in imitation of the foam-bedecked waves of gray water to the south; and the last of the sweet cl.u.s.ters of plump, round grapes, bursting with juice, beckoned to be picked.

The men were in their usual knot planning one of the last hunting trips of the season. They had been discussing the proposed trek since early morning, and Broud had been sent to tell a woman to bring them water to drink. He saw Ayla sitting near the mouth of the cave with sticks and pieces of thong spread out around her. She was constructing frames from which bunches of grapes would be hung until they dried to raisins.

"Ayla! Bring water!" Broud signaled and started back.

The girl was lashing a critical corner, supporting the unfinished frame against her body. If she moved just then, it would collapse and she'd have to start over again. She hesitated, looked to see if another woman was nearby, then heaving a sigh of reluctance, got up slowly, and went to find a large waterbag.

The young man fought to quell the anger that quickly rose at her obvious reluctance to obey him, and struggling with his fury, he looked for another woman who would respond to his request with proper alacrity. Suddenly, he changed his mind. He looked back at Ayla just getting up and narrowed his eyes. What gave her the right to be so insolent? Am I not a man? Isn't it her place to obey me? Brun never told me to allow such disrespect, he thought. He can't put a death curse on me just for making her do what she's supposed to do. What kind of leader would let a female defy him? Something snapped inside Broud. Her impudence has gone on too long! I won't let her get away with it. She will will obey me! obey me!

The thoughts came to him in the split second it took to make the three strides covering the distance between them. Just as she stood up, his hard fist caught her by surprise and knocked her flat. Her startled look quickly changed to anger. She glanced around and saw Brun watching, but there was a quality about his expressionless face that warned her to expect no a.s.sistance from him. The rage in Broud's eyes changed her anger to fear. He had seen her flash of anger and it aroused his pa.s.sionate hatred of her. How dare she defy him!

Quickly, Ayla scrambled out of the way of the next blow. She ran toward the cave to find the waterbag. Broud stared after her, his fists clenched, fighting to keep his fury within manageable bounds. He glanced toward the men and saw Brun's impa.s.sive face. There was no encouragement in his expression, but no denial either. Broud watched as Ayla hurried to the pool to fill the bag, then hoist the heavy bladder on her back. He had not missed her quick response nor her look of fear when she saw that he meant to hit her again. It made his anger a little easier to control. I've been too easy on her, he thought.

As Ayla pa.s.sed close to Broud, bent over with the weight of the heavy water-filled bag, he gave her a shove that nearly knocked her down again. Anger flushed her cheeks. She straightened up, shot him a quick hate-filled glance, and slowed her step. He went after her again. She ducked, taking the blow on her shoulder. The clan was watching now. The girl looked toward the men. Brun's hard stare hurried her more than Broud's fists had. She ran the short distance, knelt down, and began pouring water into a cup, keeping her head bowed. Broud followed slowly behind, fearful of Brun's reaction.

"Crug was saying he saw the herd traveling north, Broud," Brun motioned casually as Broud rejoined the group.

It was all right! Brun was not angry at him! Of course, why should he be angry? I did the right thing. Why should he make any reference to a man disciplining a female who deserved it? Broud's sigh of relief was almost audible.

When the men were through drinking, Ayla returned to the cave. Most of the people had gone back to what they were doing, but Creb still stood at the entrance watching her.

"Creb! Broud almost beat me again," she gestured, running up to him. She looked up at the old man she loved, but the smile on her face faded as she saw a look on his she had never seen before.

"You only got what you deserved," he motioned with a grim scowl. His eye was hard. He turned his back on her and limped back to his hearth. Why is Creb mad at me? she thought.

Later that evening, Ayla shyly approached the old magician and reached out to put her arms around his neck, a gesture that had never failed to melt his heart before. He made no response, didn't even bother to shrug her away. He just stared into the distance, cold and aloof. She shrunk back.

"Don't bother me. Go find worthwhile work to do, girl. Mog-ur is meditating, he has no time for insolent females," he motioned with an abrupt, impatient gesture.

Tears filled her eyes. She was hurt and suddenly a little frightened of the old magician. He wasn't the Creb she knew and loved anymore. He was Mog-ur. For the first time since she came to live with the clan, she understood why everyone else kept their distance and stood in awe and fear of the great Mog-ur. He had withdrawn from her. With a look and a few gestures, he conveyed disapproval and a sense of rejection stronger than she had ever felt. He didn't love her anymore. She wanted to hug him, to tell him she loved him, but she was afraid. She shuffled over to Iza.

"Why is Creb so angry with me?" she motioned.

"I told you before, Ayla, you should do as Broud says. He is a man, he has the right to command you," Iza said gently.

"But, I do do everything he says. I've never disobeyed him." everything he says. I've never disobeyed him."

"You resist him, Ayla. You defy him. You know you are insolent. You do not behave as a well brought-up girl should. It's a reflection on Creb-and on me. Creb feels he has not trained you properly, has allowed you too much freedom, has let you have your own way with him so you think you can have your own way with everyone. Brun is not happy with you either, and Creb knows it. You run all the time. Children run, Ayla, not girls the size of women. You make those sounds in your throat. You do not move quickly when you are told to do something. Everyone disapproves of you, Ayla. You have shamed Creb."

"I didn't know I was so bad, Iza," Ayla gestured. "I did not want to be bad, I just didn't think about it."

"But you should think about it. You're too big to behave like a child."

"It's just that Broud has always been so mean to me, and he beat me so hard that time."

"It makes no difference if he is mean or not, Ayla. He can be as mean as he wants; it's his right, he's a man. He can beat you anytime he wants, as hard as he wants. He will be leader someday, Ayla, you must obey him, you must do just as he says, when he says it. You have no choice," Iza explained. She looked at the stricken face of the child. Why is it so hard for her? she wondered. Iza felt a sadness and sympathy for the girl who had such difficulty accepting the facts of life. "It's late, Ayla, go to bed."

Ayla went to her sleeping place, but it was a long time before she went to sleep. She tossed and turned and slept badly when sleep did finally overcome her. She was awake early, took her basket and digging stick, and was gone before breakfast. She wanted to be alone, to think. She climbed to her secret meadow and got her sling, but she didn't feel much like practicing.

It's all Broud's fault, she thought. Why does he always pick on me? What did I ever do to him? He never has liked me. So what if he's a man, what makes men better? I don't care if he is going to be leader, he's not so great. He's not even as good as Zoug with the sling. I could be as good as he is, I'm already better than Vorn. He misses a lot more than I do; Broud probably does, too. He missed when he was showing off for Vorn.

Angrily, she started slinging stones. One bounced into a copse of bushes and flushed a sleepy porcupine from his hole. The small nocturnal animals were seldom hunted. Everyone made a big thing about Vorn killing a porcupine, she thought. I could, too, if I wanted to. The animal was ambling up a sandy hill near the creek, quills extended. Ayla fitted a stone into the bulge of her leather sling, took aim, and fired the stone. The slow-moving porcupine was an easy target; it dropped to the ground.

Ayla ran toward the creature, pleased with herself. But when she touched it, she realized the porcupine wasn't dead, only stunned. She felt his beating heart and saw the blood trickling from the wound on his head and had a sudden impulse to bring the small animal back to the cave to heal him as she had done with so many wounded creatures. She wasn't pleased anymore; she felt terrible. Why did I hurt him? I didn't want to hurt him, she thought. I can't bring him back to the cave. Iza would know right away he was. .h.i.t with a stone; she's seen too many animals killed with a sling.

The child stared at the wounded animal. I can't ever hunt, she realized. Even if I killed an animal, I could never bring it back to the cave. What good is all this practicing with a sling? If Creb is mad at me now, what would he do if he knew? What would Brun do? I'm not even supposed to touch a weapon, much less use one. Would Brun make me go away? Ayla was overcome with guilt and fear. Where would I go? I can't leave Iza and Creb and Uba. Who would take care of me? I don't want to leave, she thought, bursting into tears.

I've been bad. I've been so bad, and Creb is so mad at me. I love him, I don't want him to hate me. Oh, why is he so mad at me? Tears streamed down the unhappy girl's face. She lay down on the ground, sobbing her misery. When she had cried herself out, she sat up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her shoulders shaking with renewed sobs every now and then. I won't be bad anymore, ever. Oh, I'll be so good. I'll do whatever Broud wants, no matter what. And I won't ever touch a sling again. To emphasize her conviction, she threw the sling under a bush, raced to get her basket, and started down to the cave. Iza had been looking for her and saw her returning.

"Where have you been? You've been gone all morning and your basket is empty."

"I've been thinking, mother," Ayla motioned, looking at Iza with earnest seriousness. "You were right, I've been bad. I won't be bad anymore. I will do everything Broud wants me to. And I will behave the way I should, I won't run or anything. Do you think Creb will ever love me again, if I'm very, very good?"

"I'm sure he will, Ayla," Iza replied, patting her gently. She's had that sickness again, the one that makes her eyes water when she thinks Creb doesn't love her, the woman thought, looking at Ayla's tear-streaked face and red swollen eyes. Her heart ached for the girl. It's just harder for her, her kind are different. But perhaps it will be better now.

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 a.s.sault 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, hara.s.sed 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 antic.i.p.ate his wants, but that backfired when he reprimanded her for a.s.suming 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 appet.i.te, 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 s...o...b..rry 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 s...o...b..rry 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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 compet.i.tors 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 compet.i.tion for the sake of compet.i.tion was a concept that would not take hold until the earth was tamed by civilizations that no longer needed to hunt for survival. Compet.i.tion 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 compet.i.tors 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 sh.e.l.l of a mollusc that might be found at the seash.o.r.e, too. She picked it up and examined it carefully. It was a stone, a stone shaped like a sh.e.l.l.

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 sh.e.l.l-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 gra.s.s 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 hara.s.sment 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?