"The scars are still red, but they should fade in time," Ayla said, then looked at the child. "Are you strong, Brac?" He nodded. "Show me how strong. Can you pull my arm down?" She held out her forearm. "No, not with that hand, the other one," she corrected when he reached up with the uninjured arm. Brac changed hands and pulled against her arm. Ayla resisted just enough to feel the strength of his pull, then let her arm be lowered. "You are a strong boy, Brac. Someday you will be a brave hunter, just like Broud."

She held out her arms to see if he would come to her. At first he turned away, then changed his mind and allowed Ayla to pick him up. She held him up in the air, then cuddled him in her lap. "Brac is a big boy. So heavy, so st.u.r.dy." He stayed there comfortably for a few moments, but when he discovered she had nothing to feed him with, he squirmed to get back to his mother, reached for her breast, and began to nurse, staring at Ayla with big, round eyes.

"You're so lucky, Oga. He's a wonderful baby."

"I wouldn't be so lucky if it wasn't for you, Ayla." Oga had finally broached the subject they had painstakingly avoided. "I never told you how grateful I am. First I was too worried about him, and I didn't know what to say. You didn't seem to want to talk much, either, and then you were gone. I still don't know what to say. I never expected to see you again; it's hard to believe you're back. It was wrong for you to touch a weapon, and I can't understand why you wanted to hunt, but I'm glad you did. I can't tell you how much. I felt so awful when you were...when you had to go, but I'm happy you're back."

"I am too," Ebra added. The other women nodded in agreement.

Ayla was overwhelmed by their unconditional acceptance of her and struggled to control tears that wanted to flow much too easily. She was afraid the women would be uncomfortable if her eyes watered.

"I'm glad to be back," she motioned, and the tears escaped her control. Iza now knew her eyes watered when she felt strongly about something, not because she was sick. The women, too, had grown accustomed to that peculiarity of hers and had come to know the meaning of her tears. They only nodded with understanding.

"How was it, Ayla?" Oga asked, her eyes full of troubled compa.s.sion. Ayla thought for a moment.

"Lonely," she answered. "Very lonely. I missed everyone so much." The women's eyes held such pity, Ayla had to say something to change the mood. "I even missed Broud," she added.

"Hhmmf," Aga said. "That was pretty lonely." Then she glanced at Oga, a little embarra.s.sed.

"I know he can be difficult," Oga admitted. "But Broud is my mate, and he's not so bad to me."

"No, don't apologize for him, Oga," Ayla said gently. "Everyone knows Broud cares for you. You should be proud to be his mate. He's going to be leader, and he's a brave hunter, he was even the first to wound the mammoth. You can't help it if he doesn't like me. Some of it is my fault; I haven't always behaved as I should to him. I don't know how it started and I don't know how to end it; I would if I could, but that's not anything you should worry about."

"He always did have a temper," Ebra commented. "He's not like Brun. I knew Mog-ur was right when he said Broud's totem was the Woolly Rhinoceros. I think in some ways you helped him to control his temper, Ayla. It will make him a better leader."

"I don't know," Ayla shook her head. "If I wasn't around, I don't think he'd lose it so much. I think I bring out the worst in him."

A strained silence followed. Women did not ordinarily discuss the real failings of their men so openly, but the discussion had cleared the air of tension around the girl. Iza wisely decided it was time to drop the subject.

"Does anyone know where the yams are?" she motioned.

"I think they were in the place Brun cleared out," Ebra answered. "We may not find them until next summer."

Broud noticed Ayla sitting with the women and frowned when he saw her examine Brac and hold him in her lap. It made him remember it was she who had saved the boy's life, and that reminded him that she had been witness to his humiliation. Broud had been as overwhelmed by her return as the rest of them. The first day he viewed her with awe, and some apprehension. But the change that Creb had interpreted as growing maturity, and Brun had seen as her sense of her own luck, Broud took as flagrant insolence. During her trial by snow, Ayla had gained not only the confidence that she could survive, but a serene acceptance of life's noisome trivialities. After her ordeal, with its life-and-death struggles, nothing as insignificant as a reprimand, whose effectiveness had long since worn thin from overuse, could ruffle her placid composure.

Ayla had had missed Broud. In her utter isolation, even his hara.s.sment would have been preferable to the stark emptiness of total invisibility to people who loved her. The first few days, she positively relished his close, if abusive, attention. He not only saw her, he saw every move she made. missed Broud. In her utter isolation, even his hara.s.sment would have been preferable to the stark emptiness of total invisibility to people who loved her. The first few days, she positively relished his close, if abusive, attention. He not only saw her, he saw every move she made.

By the third day of her return, old patterns reestablished themselves but with a difference. Ayla didn't have to fight herself to bend to his will, her response didn't even have the undercurrent of subtle condescension. She was genuinely unmoved. He could do nothing to disturb her. He could cuff and curse and work himself up to the edge of explosive violence. It had absolutely no effect. She patiently acquiesced to his most unreasonable demands. Though it was unintentional, Ayla was giving Broud a small measure of the ostracism she had been dealt in such abundance. She excluded him from her responses. His most towering rage, controlled only by supreme expenditures of effort, was met with no more reaction than the bite of a flea; less, for a fleabite is at least scratched. It was the worst thing she could do, she infuriated him.

Broud craved attention, he thrived on it. For him, it was a necessity. Nothing drove him to greater heights of frustration than someone who failed to react to him. It mattered little, in the depths of his being, whether the reaction was positive or negative, but there had to be one. He was sure her indifference was because she had seen him belittled, witnessed his disgrace, had no respect for his authority. He was partly right. She knew the outer limits of his control over her, had tested the mettle of his inner strength, and found them both insufficient to gain her respect. But it wasn't only that she didn't respect him and didn't respond to him, she usurped the attention he wanted.

By her very appearance she drew attention to herself, and everything about her drew attention: her powerful totem; sharing the hearth, and the love, of the formidable magician; training to become a medicine woman; saving Ona's life; her skill with the sling; killing the hyena that saved Brac's life; and now, returning from the world of the spirits. Every time Broud had exhibited great courage and rightfully deserved the admiration, respect, and attention of the clan, she upstaged him.

Broud glowered at the girl from a distance. Why did she have to come back? Everybody is talking about her; they're always talking about her. When I killed the bison and became a man, everybody talked about her stupid totem. Did she stand up to a charging mammoth? Did she almost get trampled to cut the tendons? No. All she did was throw a couple of stones with a sling, and all they could think about was her. Brun and his meetings, all about her. And then he couldn't do it right, and now she's back again and they're all talking about her. Why does she always have to spoil everything?

"Creb, why are you so fidgety? I can't ever remember seeing you so nervous. You act like a young man about to take his first mate. Do you want me to make a cup of tea to settle your nerves?" Iza asked, after the magician jumped up for the third time, started to leave the hearth, changed his mind, and went back and sat down again.

"What makes you think I'm nervous? I'm just trying to remember everything and meditate a little," he said sheepishly.

"What do you need to remember? You've been Mog-ur for years, Creb. There can't be a single ceremony you couldn't do in your sleep. And I've never seen you meditate by jumping up and down. Why don't you let me fix you a little tea?"

"No. No. I don't need any tea. Where's Ayla?"

"She's over there, just beyond the last hearth looking for yams. Why?"

"I just wanted to know," Creb replied as he settled back down. Not long afterward, Brun walked by and signaled Mog-ur. The magician got up again and both men walked to the rear of the cave. What can be wrong with those two? Iza shook her head in wonder.

"Isn't it nearly time?" the leader asked when they reached the place he had cleared out. "Is everything ready?"

"All the preparations are made, but the sun should be lower, I think."

"You think! Don't you know? I thought you said you knew what to do. I thought you said you meditated and found a ceremony. Everything must be absolutely right. How can you say 'you think'?" Brun snapped.

"I did meditate," Mog-ur countered defensively. "But it was long ago, a different place. There wasn't any snow. I don't think there was snow even in winter. It's not easy to get the time right. I just know the sun was low."

"You didn't tell me that! How can you be sure it will be right? Maybe we'd better forget it. It's a ridiculous idea anyway."

"I've already talked to the spirits; the stones are in place. They're expecting us."

"I don't like the idea of moving the stones, either. Maybe we should've decided to have it in the place of the spirits. Are you sure they won't be upset because we moved them from the small cave, Mog-ur?"

"We already discussed that, Brun. We decided it was better to move the stones than to bring the Ancient Ones to the Totems' place of the spirits. The old ones might not want to leave again if they see it."

"How do you know they'll go back once we wake them up? It's too dangerous, Mog-ur. We'd better call it off."

"They may stay for a while," Mog-ur conceded. "But after everything is put back and they see there is no place for them, they'll leave. The totems will tell them to go. But it's up to you. If you want to change your mind, I'll try to placate the spirits. Just because they're expecting a ceremony doesn't mean we have to have one."

"No. You're right. We'd better go ahead with it now. They're expecting something. The men may not be too happy about it, though."

"Who is leader, Brun? Besides, they'll get used to it once they understand it's all right."

"Is it, Mog-ur? Is it really? It's been so long. It's not the men I'm thinking about now. Will our totems accept it? We've been so lucky, almost too lucky. I keep thinking something terrible is going to happen. I don't want to do anything to upset them. I want to do what they want. I want to keep them happy."

"That's what we're doing, Brun," Mog-ur said gently, "trying to do what they want. All of them."

"But are you sure the others will understand? If we please one, won't the others feel slighted?"

"No, Brun, I'm not sure they will." The magician could feel the leader's worry and tension. He knew how difficult it was for him. "No one can be absolutely sure. We are only human. Even a mog-ur is only human. We can only try. But you said it yourself, we've been lucky. That must mean the spirits of all the totems are happy. If they were fighting with each other, do you think we'd have been so lucky? How often does a clan kill a mammoth without anyone getting hurt? Anything could have gone wrong. You could have traveled all that way and not found a herd, and some of the best hunting time would have been wasted. You took a chance, but it worked. Even Brac is still alive, Brun."

The leader looked at the serious face of the magician. Then he stood up straighter, and firm resolution replaced the indecision in Brun's eyes.

"I'll go get the men," he gestured.

The women had been told to stay away from the back of the cave, not even to look in that direction. Iza noticed Brun get the men, but she ignored it. Whatever they were doing was their business. She wasn't sure what made her glance up just as two men, faces painted red with ochre, rushed toward Ayla. Iza felt herself tremble. What could they possibly want with Ayla?

The girl hadn't even noticed the men going with Brun. She was rummaging through baskets and stiff rawhide containers piled in disordered confusion behind the hearth farthest from the mouth of the cave, looking for yams. When she saw the red-painted face of the leader suddenly appear in front of her, she gasped with surprise.

"Do not resist. Do not make a sound," Brun signaled.

She didn't become frightened until she felt the blindfold, but she was petrified when they nearly lifted her off the ground as they dragged her away.

The men were apprehensive when they saw Brun and Goov bringing the girl. They knew no more than the women of the reason for the ceremony Brun and Mog-ur were planning, but unlike them, the men knew their curiosity would eventually be satisfied. Mog-ur had only warned them not to make a single gesture or sound after they seated themselves in a circle behind the stones brought out from the small cave, but the warning gained force when he pa.s.sed out two long cave bear bones to each man to be held crossed like an x in front of him. The danger must be great indeed if they needed such extreme protection. They began to get an inkling of the danger when they saw Ayla.

Brun forced the female to sit in the open s.p.a.ce in the circle directly opposite Mog-ur, and sat down behind the girl. At the magician's signal, Brun removed her blindfold. Ayla blinked to clear her vision. In the light from the torches, she could see Mog-ur seated behind a cave bear skull and the men holding the crossed bones, and she huddled down with fear, trying to sink lower into the ground.

What have I done? I haven't touched a sling, she thought, trying to remember if she had committed some terrible crime that would supply a reason for her being there. She couldn't think of a thing she had done wrong.

"Do not move. Do not make a sound," Mog-ur warned again.

She didn't think she could if she wanted to. Wide-eyed, she watched the magician pull himself up, lay his staff down, and begin the formal motions entreating Ursus and the totemic spirits to watch over them. Many of the gestures were unfamiliar to her, but she stared in rapt attention, not so much for the meaning of the symbols Mog-ur was making as for the old magician himself.

She knew Creb, knew him well, a crippled old man who hobbled awkwardly when he moved, leaning heavily on his staff. He was a lopsided caricature of a man, one side of his body stunted, muscles atrophied with disuse, the other side overdeveloped to make up for the paralysis that forced him to depend on it so heavily. In the past she had noticed his graceful motions when he used the formal language for public ceremonies-abbreviated by the absence of one arm, yet in some indefinable way fraught with subtleties and complexities, and fuller in meaning. But the motions of the man standing behind the skull showed a side of the magician she never knew existed.

Gone was the awkwardness. In its place were hypnotically powerful rhythms of motion flowing smoothly, compelling the eyes to look. The movement of hand and subtle posture was not a graceful dance, for all it appeared to be; Mog-ur was an orator speaking with a persuasive force Ayla had never seen; and the great holy man was never so expressive as he was when addressing the unseen audience more real to him, at times, than the humans seated before him. The Mog-ur of the Clan of the Cave Bear poured forth even greater efforts when he began to direct his attention to the incredibly venerable spirits he wished to call to this unique ceremony.

"Most Ancient Spirits, Spirits we have not invoked since the early mists of our beginnings, heed us now. We call upon you, we would pay homage to you, and we would ask for your a.s.sistance and your protection. Great Spirits, so venerable your names are but a whisper of memory, awake from your deep sleep and let us honor you. We have an offering, a sacrifice to placate your ancient hearts; we need your sanction. Heed us as we call your names.

"Spirit of Wind. Oooha!" Ayla felt a chill up her spine as Mog-ur spoke the name aloud. "Spirit of Rain. Zheena! Spirit of Mists. Eeesha! Attend us! Look upon us with favor. We have one of your own with us, one who has walked with your shades and returned, returned at the wish of the Great Cave Lion."

He's talking about me, Ayla suddenly realized. This is a ceremony. What am I doing at a ceremony? Who are those spirits? I never heard them mentioned before. The names are female names; I thought all protective spirits were male. Ayla was quaking with fear, yet intrigued. The men sitting like the stones in front of them had never heard of the ancient spirits, either, until Mog-ur called their names, yet they were not unfamiliar. Hearing the ancient names stirred an equally ancient memory stored in the deep recesses of their minds.

"Most Honored Ones of Old, the ways of the Spirits are a mystery to us, we are only human, we do not know why this female was chosen by one so powerful, we do not know why he has led her to your ancient ways, but we may not deny him. He fought for her in the shadowed land, defeated the evil ones, and returned her to us to make his wishes clear, to make it known we may not deny him. O Powerful Spirits of the Past, your ways are no longer the ways of the Clan, yet once they were and must be again for this one who sits with us. We entreat you, Ancient Spirits, sanctify her to your ways. Accept her. Protect her and give your protection to her clan." Mog-ur turned to Ayla. "Bring the female forward," he commanded.

Ayla felt herself lifted bodily from the ground by Brun's strong arms and moved forward until she stood in front of the old magician. She gasped as Brun grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair and yanked her head back. From the bottom of her eyes, she saw Mog-ur take a sharp knife from his pouch and lift it high above his head. Terrified, she watched the face of the one-eyed man loom closer, knife raised, and nearly fainted when she saw him bring the sharp edge down quickly to her bared throat.

She felt a sharp pain, yet was too frightened to cry out. But Mog-ur only made a small nick in the hollow at the base of her throat. The trickle of warm blood was quickly absorbed by a small square of soft rabbit skin. He waited until the square was soaked with her blood, then wiped the cut with a stinging liquid from a bowl held by Goov. Then Brun released her.

Fascinated, she watched Mog-ur put the blood-soaked square into a shallow stone bowl partially filled with oil. The magician was handed a small torch by his acolyte, and with it he set fire to the oil in the bowl and watched silently as the skin burned to a charred crisp with a sharp, acrid smell. When it was burned out, Brun moved aside her wrap and exposed her left thigh. Mog-ur dipped his finger in the residue left in the stone bowl and drew a black line over each of the four lines that scarred her leg. She stared at it in wonder. It looked like a totem mark, cut and stained black during the ceremony that marked a boy's pa.s.sage into manhood. She felt herself being moved back, and watched Mog-ur address the spirits again.

"Accept this sacrifice of blood, Most Venerable Spirits, and know it is her totem, the Spirit of the Cave Lion, that chose her to follow your ancient ways. Know that we have shown you honor, know that we have paid you homage. Give us your favor and return to your deep rest, content that your ways are not forgotten."

It's over, Ayla thought, breathing a sigh of relief as Mog-ur sat down again. She still didn't know why she was made to partic.i.p.ate in the unusual ceremony. But they weren't through with her yet. Brun moved around in front of her and motioned to her to stand. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet. He reached into a fold of his wrap and withdrew a small, red-stained oval of ivory sawed from near the tip of a mammoth tusk.

"Ayla, this one time alone, while we are under the protection of the Most Ancient Spirits, you stand as an equal with the men." She wasn't sure she understood the leader correctly. "Once you leave this place, you must never again think of yourself as an equal. You are female, you will always be female."

Ayla was nodding her head in agreement. Of course, she knew she was female, but she was puzzled.

"This ivory is from the tusk of the mammoth we killed. It was a very lucky hunt; no man was hurt, yet we brought down the great beast. This piece has been sanctified by Ursus, colored the sacred red by Mog-ur, and is a powerful hunting talisman. Every hunter of the clan carries one like it in his amulet, and every hunter must have one.

"Ayla, no boy becomes adult until he makes his first kill, but once he has, he cannot be a child. Long ago, during the time of the Spirits that still hover near, women of the Clan hunted. We don't know why your totem has led you to follow that ancient path, but we cannot deny the Spirit of the Cave Lion; it must be allowed. Ayla, you have made your first kill; you must now a.s.sume the responsibilities of an adult. But you are a woman, not a man, and you will be a woman always, in all ways but one. You may use only a sling, Ayla, but you are now the Woman Who Hunts."

Ayla felt a sudden rush of blood rise to her face. Could it be true? Had she really understood Brun? For using a sling, she had just been through an ordeal she didn't think she would survive; now she was going to be allowed to use it? Allowed to hunt? Openly? She could hardly believe it.

"This talisman is for you. Put it in your amulet." Ayla took the pouch from around her neck and fumbled to untie the knots. She took the red-stained oval of ivory from Brun and put it beside the chunk of red ochre and the fossil cast, then closed the leather bag and slipped it back over her neck.

"Do not tell anyone yet; I will announce it before the feast tonight. It is in your honor, Ayla, in honor of your first kill," Brun said. "I hope your next one will be more palatable than a hyena," he added with a twinkle of humor in his eyes. "Now, turn around."

She did as she was told, and felt the blindfold cover her eyes and the two men lead her back, then remove the blindfold. She watched Brun and Goov return to the circle of men. Was I dreaming? She felt her throat and the sting of the wound where Mog-ur had cut her, then slid her hand down and felt three objects inside her amulet. She moved her wrap aside and stared at the slightly smeared black lines that covered her scars. A hunter! I am a hunter! A A hunter for the clan. They said it was my totem who wanted it and they couldn't deny him. She clutched her amulet, closed her eyes, and then began the formal gestures. hunter for the clan. They said it was my totem who wanted it and they couldn't deny him. She clutched her amulet, closed her eyes, and then began the formal gestures.

"Great Cave Lion, why did I ever doubt you? The death curse was a difficult test, the worst yet, but it had to be for so great a gift. I am so grateful you found me worthy. I know Creb was right-my life will never be easy with you as my totem, but it will always be worth it."

The ceremony had been effective enough to convince the men that Ayla should be allowed to hunt-all but one. Broud was furious. If he hadn't been so frightened by Mog-ur's warning, he would have left the ceremony. He wanted no part of anything that gave that female special privileges. He glowered at Mog-ur, but his special bitterness was directed at Brun, and he couldn't swallow his gall.

It's his doing, Broud thought. He's always protected her, always favored her. He threatened me with a death curse just for punishing her for her insolence. Me, the son of his mate, and she deserved it. He should have cursed her right, it should have been forever. Now he's letting her hunt, hunt, just like a man. How could he do it? Well, Brun's getting old. He won't be leader forever. Someday I'll be leader, then we'll see. Then she won't have him to protect her. Then we'll see what privileges she gets; just let her try to get away with her insolence then.

18*

The Woman Who Hunts earned the full t.i.tle during the winter that began her tenth year. Iza felt a private satisfaction and a small sense of relief when she noticed the changes in the girl that heralded the onset of menarche. Ayla's spreading hips and the two b.u.mps swelling her chest, changing the contours of her straight, child's body, a.s.sured the woman that her unusual daughter was not doomed to perennial childhood after all. Swelling nipples and a light down of pubic and underarm hair were followed by Ayla's first menstrual flow; the first time the spirit of her totem battled with another.

Ayla understood now that it was unlikely she would ever give birth; her totem was too strong. She wanted a baby-ever since Uba was born she had wanted a baby of her own to love and care for-but she accepted the trials and restrictions imposed by the powerful Cave Lion. She always enjoyed caring for the infants and children of the growing clan when their mothers were busy, and she felt a pang of remorse when they went to someone else to nurse. But at least now she was a woman, no longer a child who was taller than a woman.

Ayla felt an empathetic sense of ident.i.ty with Ovra who had miscarried several more times, though earlier in her pregnancies and not with as much difficulty. Ovra's Beaver totem was a little too ferocious, too. She seemed destined to be childless. Ever since the mammoth hunt, and especially after Ayla reached physical adulthood, the two young women often shared each other's company. The quiet woman didn't talk much-she was reticent by nature, the opposite of Ika's open and friendly disposition-but Ayla and Ovra developed an understanding that ripened slowly into a close friendship and extended to include Goov. The fondness between the young acolyte and his mate was apparent to everyone. It made Ovra the object of greater pity. Since her mate was so understanding and gentle about her inability to produce a child for him, they knew it made her want a baby even more.

Oga was expecting again, much to Broud's delight. She had gotten pregnant soon after weaning three-year-old Brac. It looked as though she was going to be as prolific as Aga and Ika. Droog was sure Aga's two-year-old son would be the toolmaker he wanted when he found the boy banging stones together one day. He found a hammerstone to fit Groob's pudgy little hand and allowed him to play nearby when he worked, hitting broken pieces of flint to mimic the knapper. Ika's two-year-old, Igra, promised to be as outgoing as her mother, a cheerful, chubby, friendly little girl that delighted everyone. Brun's clan was growing.

Ayla spent the few days in early spring away from the clan, her required woman's curse, in the small cave of her high retreat. After the far more traumatic death curse, it was almost a holiday. She used the time to work out the kinks and sharpen her throwing skills after the long winter, though she had to remind herself constantly that she no longer had to be secretive about it. Though she had little trouble securing food for herself, she looked forward to her daily visits with Iza at a prearranged place near the cave of the clan. Iza brought her more food than she could hope to eat, but more, she brought company. It was still difficult to spend her nights alone, though the knowledge that the ostracism was limited and of short duration made it easier.

They often visited until dark and Ayla had to use a torch to find her way back. Iza never got over her nervousness about the deerskin Ayla had made for herself while she was "dead," so the young woman decided to leave it in the small cave. Ayla learned the things a woman needed to know from her mother, just as all young women did. Iza gave her the straps of soft, absorbent leather that were worn tied to a waist thong, and explained the proper symbols to make when she buried the straps soiled with menstrual flow deep in the ground. She was told the proper position to a.s.sume if a man decided to relieve his needs with her, the movements to make, and how to clean herself afterward. Ayla was a woman now; she could be required to fulfill all the functions of a fully adult female member of the clan. They talked of many things of interest to women, though some were familiar to her from her medical training. They discussed childbirth, nursing, and medicine to relieve cramps. Iza explained the positions and motions considered seductive to men of the clan, the ways that a woman might encourage a man to develop a desire to relieve his needs. They talked of the responsibilities of a mated woman. Iza told Ayla all the things her mother had told her, but privately she wondered if the unattractive girl would ever have need for much of the knowledge.

There was one subject Iza never brought up. Most young women, by the time they became women, usually had their eye on a particular young man. Though neither a girl nor her mother had any direct say in the matter, the mother, if she was on good terms with her mate, could tell him of her daughter's wishes. The mate, if he chose, could make them known to the leader, with whom the decision rested. If there were no other considerations, and especially if the young man in question had shown an interest in the girl, the leader might let the young woman's wishes prevail.

Not always, certainly not in Iza's case, but the subject of mates never came up between Iza and Ayla, though it was usually one of great interest to a nubile young woman and her mother. There were no young unmated men in the clan, and Iza was sure if there had been, they would not have wanted Ayla any more than any man in the clan wanted her as a second woman. And Ayla herself had no interest in any of them. She hadn't even thought about a mate until Iza brought up the subject of a mated woman's responsibilities. But she thought about it later.

On a sunny spring morning not long after she returned, Ayla went to fill a waterbag at the spring-fed pool near the cave. No one else was out yet. She knelt down and bent over, ready to dip the bag in, then suddenly stopped. The morning sun slanting across the still water gave it a mirrorlike surface. Ayla stared at the strange face looking at her out of the pool; she had not seen a reflection of herself before. Most water near the cave was in the form of running streams or creeks, and she didn't usually look in the pool until after she had dipped in the container she wanted to fill, disturbing the tranquil surface.

The young woman studied her own face. It was somewhat square with a well-defined jaw, modified by cheeks still rounded with youth, high cheekbones and a long, smooth neck. Her chin had the hint of a cleft, her lips were full, and her nose straight and finely chiseled. Clear, blue gray eyes were outlined with heavy lashes a shade or two darker than the golden hair that fell in thick soft waves to well below her shoulders, glimmering with highlights in the sun. Eyebrows, the same shade as her lashes, arched above her eyes on a smooth, straight, high forehead without the slightest hint of protruding brow ridges. Ayla backed stiffly away from the pool and ran into the cave.

"Ayla, what's wrong?" Iza motioned. It was obvious something was troubling her daughter.

"Mother! I just looked in the pool. I'm so ugly! Oh, mother, why am I so ugly?" was her impa.s.sioned response. She burst into tears in the woman's arms. For as long as she could remember, Ayla had never seen anyone except people of the clan. She had no other standard of measure. They had grown accustomed to her, but to herself, she looked different from everyone around her, abnormally different.

"Ayla, Ayla," Iza soothed, holding the sobbing young woman in her arms.

"I didn't know I was so ugly, mother. I didn't know. What man will ever want me? I'll never have a mate. And I'll never have a baby. I'll never have anyone. Why do I have to be so ugly?"

"I don't know if you're really so ugly, Ayla. You're different."

"I'm ugly! I'm ugly!" Ayla shook her head, refusing to be comforted. "Look at me! I'm too big, I'm taller than Broud and Goov. I'm almost as tall as Brun! And I'm ugly. I'm big and ugly and I'll never have a mate," she gestured with fresh sobs.

"Ayla! Stop it!" Iza commanded, shaking her shoulders. "You can't help the way you look. You were not born to the Clan, Ayla, you were born to the Others, you look the way they look. You can't change that, you must accept it. It's true you may never have a mate. That can't be helped; you must accept that, too. But it's not certain, it's not hopeless. Soon you will be a medicine woman, a medicine woman of my line. Even without a mate, you will not be a woman without status, without value.

"Next summer is the Clan Gathering. There will be many clans there; this is not the only clan, you know. You may find a mate in one of the other clans. Maybe not a young man or one with high status, but a mate. Zoug thinks very well of you; you are fortunate that he holds you in such high regard. He has already given Creb a message to take with him. Zoug has kin in another clan; he told Creb to tell them of his regard for you. He thinks you will make some man a good mate and wants them to consider you. He even said he would take you if he were younger. Remember that, this is not the only clan, these are not the only men in the world."

"Zoug said that? Even though I'm so ugly?" Ayla gestured, a look of hope in her eyes.

"Yes, Zoug said that. With his recommendation and the status of my line, I'm sure there will be some man who will take you, even if you do look different."