Ayla's tremulous smile faded. "But won't that mean I'll have to go away? Live someplace else? I don't want to leave you and Creb and Uba."

"Ayla, I am old. Creb is no young man either, and in a few years Uba will be a woman and mated. What will you do then?" Iza motioned. "Someday Brun will pa.s.s the leadership on to Broud. I don't think you should live with this clan when Broud becomes leader. I think it might be best if you moved away, and the Clan Gathering may be your opportunity."

"I suppose you're right, mother. I don't think I want to live here when Broud is leader, but I hate the thought of leaving you," she said with a frown, then brightened. "But next summer is a whole year away. I don't have to worry about it until then."

A whole year, Iza thought. My Ayla, my child. Maybe you have to be my age to know how fast a year goes. You don't want to leave me? You don't know how I'll miss you. If only there were a man in this clan who would take you. If only Broud were not going to be leader.

But the woman gave no hint of her thoughts as Ayla wiped her eyes and went back to get water. This time she avoided looking in the still pool.

Later that afternoon, Ayla stood at the edge of the woods looking through the brush at the cave. Several people were outside working or talking. She shifted the two rabbits that were slung over her shoulder, looked down at the sling tucked in her waist thong, stuffed it in a fold of her wrap, then took it out and tucked it back at her waist in plain sight. She looked again at the cave, shuffling nervously.

Brun said I could, she thought. They had a ceremony so I could. I'm a hunter, I'm the Woman Who Hunts. Ayla lifted her chin and stepped out from behind the concealing screen of foliage.

For a long, frozen moment, everyone outside the cave stopped and stared at the young woman walking toward them with two rabbits slung over her shoulder. As soon as they got over the shock and realized their bad manners, they looked away. Ayla's face burned, but she walked straight ahead with dogged determination, ignoring the surrept.i.tious glances. She was relieved to reach the cave after pa.s.sing the gauntlet of shocked looks and glad for its cool, dim interior. It was easier to ignore the looks of the people inside.

Iza's eyes opened wide, too, when Ayla reached Creb's hearth, but recovering quickly, she looked away making no mention of the rabbits. She didn't know what to say. Creb was sitting on his bearskin apparently meditating and didn't seem to notice her. He had seen her come into the cave, and by the time she reached the hearth he had managed to mask his expression. No one said a thing as she put the animals down beside the fireplace. A moment later Uba came racing in, and she had no qualms at all about her reactions.

"Did you really hunt those yourself, Ayla?" she asked.

"Yes," Ayla nodded.

"They look like nice fat rabbits. Are we going to have them for dinner, mother?"

"Well, yes, I guess we are," Iza replied, still embarra.s.sed and unsure.

"I'll skin them," Ayla said quickly, taking out her knife. Iza watched for a moment, then walked over and took the knife from her hand.

"No, Ayla. You hunted them, I'll skin them." Ayla stepped back while Iza skinned the rabbits, quickly spitted them, and put them over the fire. She was just as uncomfortable as Iza.

"That was a good meal, Iza," Creb said later, still avoiding direct comment about Ayla's hunting, but Uba felt no such compunction.

"Those were good rabbits, Ayla, but next time why don't you get some ptarmigan," she said. Uba shared Creb's predilection for the fat birds with the feathered feet.

The next time Ayla brought her kill to the cave it wasn't such a shock, and before long her hunting became almost commonplace. With a hunter at his own hearth, Creb reduced the share he took from the other hunters except for the large animals hunted only by the men.

It was a busy spring for Ayla. Her share of the women's work was not lessened because she hunted, and there were still Iza's herbs to be collected. But Ayla loved it, she was full of energy, happier than she could remember. She was happy she could hunt without secrecy, happy to be back with the clan, and happy she was finally a woman, and glad for the closer relationships she was developing with the other women.

Ebra and Uka accepted her, though the two older women never could quite forget she was different; Ika had always been friendly; and the att.i.tudes of Aga and her mother had completely reversed since she saved Ona from drowning. Ovra had become a close confidante, and Oga warmed toward her despite Broud. The adolescent ardor Oga had felt for the man had moderated to an indifferent habit, cooled by the years of living with his unpredictable outbursts. But Broud's vindictive hatred of Ayla grew after her acceptance as a hunter. He kept trying to find ways to bedevil her, kept trying to get a reaction out of her. His hara.s.sment had become a way of life she had learned to live with; it left her unmoved. She had begun to think he would never be able to disturb her again.

Spring was in full flower the day she decided to hunt ptarmigan for Creb's favorite dish. She thought she would look over the new growths and begin restocking Iza's pharmacopoeia while she was at it. She spent the morning ranging the nearby countryside, then headed for a broad meadow near the steppes. She flushed a couple of low-flying fowl, brought down quickly by swifter stones, then searched through the tall gra.s.s looking for a nest and hopefully some eggs. Creb liked the birds stuffed with their own eggs in a nest of edible greens and herbs. She uttered an exclamation of joy when she spied it, and carefully wrapped the eggs in soft moss and tucked them into a deep fold of her wrap. She was delighted with herself. Out of sheer joyful exuberance, she sprinted across the meadow in a fast run, coming to a halt, out of breath, at the top of a knoll covered with new green gra.s.s.

Flopping to the ground, she checked her eggs to make sure they were undamaged and took out a piece of dried meat to lunch on. She watched a bright yellow-breasted meadowlark trill gloriously from an open perch, then take to wing and continue its song in flight. A pair of golden-crowned sparrows, warbling their woeful tune of descending pitch, flitted among the blackberry canes at the border of the open field. Another pair of black-capped, gray-coated birds named by the chick-a-dee-dee of their call, darted in and out of their nesting hole in a fir tree near a small creek winding its way through the dense vegetation at the foot of the knoll. Small, vivacious brown wrens scolded the others as they carried twigs and dried moss to a nest cavity in an ancient, gnarled apple tree, proving its youthful fecundity with its flock of pink blooms.

Ayla loved these moments of solitude. Basking in the sun, feeling relaxed and content, she thought about nothing in particular, except the beautiful day and how happy she was. She was completely unaware that anyone else was near until a shadow fell across the ground in front of her. Startled, she looked up into Broud's glowering face.

No hunting trips had been planned for that day and Broud had decided to hunt alone. He hadn't been very diligent; his hunting foray was more an excuse to take a walk on the warm spring day than to provide meat he didn't especially need. He had seen Ayla relaxing on the knoll from a distance and couldn't pa.s.s up the opportunity to berate her for laziness, caught in the act of sitting still.

Ayla jumped up when she saw him, but that annoyed him. She was taller and he didn't like looking up at a woman. He motioned her down and prepared to give her a sound scolding. But as she lowered herself, the unresisting, unresponsive look that glazed her eyes irritated him even more. He wished he could think of some way to get a reaction out of her. At the cave, he could at least make her get something for him to see her jump to his command.

He looked around, then down at the woman sitting at his feet, waiting with unruffled composure for him to get on with his rebuke and be on his way. She's worse than ever since she became a woman, he thought. The Woman Who Hunts, how could Brun do it? He noticed her ptarmigan and thought of his own empty hand. Even the look on her ugly face is insolent; she's gloating because she got those birds and I don't have anything. What can I make her do? There's nothing out here I can tell her to get. Wait, she's a woman now, isn't she? There's something I can make her do.

Broud gave her a signal, and Ayla's eyes flew open. It was unexpected. Iza told her men only wanted that from women they considered attractive; she knew Broud thought she was ugly. Broud hadn't missed Ayla's shocked surprise, her reaction encouraged him. He signaled her again, imperiously, to a.s.sume the position so he could relieve his needs, the position for s.e.xual intercourse.

Ayla knew what was expected. Not only had Iza explained, she had often seen adult members of the clan engage in the activity-all the children had; there were no artificial restraints in the clan. Children learned adult behavior by emulating their parents, and s.e.xual behavior was just one of many activities they mimicked. It always puzzled Ayla, she wondered why it was done, but it didn't disturb her to see a young boy bounce harmlessly on a young girl in conscious imitation of adults.

Sometimes it wasn't imitation. Many young girls of the Clan were pierced by p.u.b.escent boys who lingered in the limbo of not-yet-men, before their first kill; and occasionally a man, beguiled by a young coquette, pleased himself with a not-quite-ripe female. Most young men, though, felt it beneath their dignity to play games with former playmates.

But Ayla had no male playmates near her age except Vorn, and since the earlier days when Aga actively discouraged their a.s.sociation, there had never developed any close contact between them. Ayla was not particularly fond of Vorn, who imitated Broud's actions toward her. Despite the incident on the practice field, the boy still idolized Broud, and Vorn was not about to play "mates" with Ayla. There was no one else who might have, so she had never even engaged in the imitation of the act. Within a society that indulged in s.e.x as naturally as they breathed, Ayla was still a virgin.

The young woman felt awkward; she knew she must comply, but she was fl.u.s.tered and Broud was enjoying it. He was glad he had thought of it; he had finally broken down her defenses. It excited him to see her so confused and bewildered, and aroused him. He hovered close as she got up, then started to lower herself to her knees. Ayla wasn't accustomed to men of the clan being so near. Broud's heavy breathing frightened her. She hesitated.

Broud got impatient, pushed her down, and moved aside his wrap exposing his organ, thick and throbbing. What is she waiting for? She's so ugly, she should be honored, no other man would have her, he thought angrily, grabbing at her wrap to move it out of the way as his need grew.

But as Broud closed in on her, something snapped. She couldn't do it! She just couldn't. Her reason left her. It didn't matter that she was supposed to obey him. She scrambled to her feet and started to run. Broud was too quick for her. He grabbed her, pushed her down, and punched her in the face, cutting her lip with his hard fist. He was beginning to enjoy this. Too many times had he restrained himself when he wanted to beat her, but there was no one to stop him here. And he had justifiable reason-she was disobeying him, actively disobeying him.

Ayla was frantic. She tried to get up and he hit her again. He was getting a reaction from her he never expected, and it stirred him to greater l.u.s.t. He would cow this insolent woman yet. He hit her again and again, and felt a great satisfaction to see her cringe as he made a move to hit her once more.

Her head was ringing, blood trickled out of her nose and the corner of her mouth. She tried to get up, but he held her down. She struggled against him, pummeling his chest with her fists. They had no effect on his hard muscular body, but her resistance aroused him to new heights. Never had he felt so stimulated-violence increased his pa.s.sion and l.u.s.t added force to his blows. He reveled in her resistance and clouted her again.

She was nearly unconscious when he threw her over on her face, feverishly ripped her wrap aside, and spread her legs. With one hard thrust, he penetrated deeply. She screamed with pain. It added to his pleasure. He lunged again, drawing forth another painful cry, then again, and again. The intensity of his excitement urged him on, rising quickly to unbearable peaks. With a last hard drive that extracted a final agonized scream, he ejected his built-up heat.

Broud collapsed on top of her for a moment, his energy spent. Then, still breathing heavily, he withdrew himself. Ayla sobbed incoherently. The salt from her tears stung the open wounds on her blood-smeared face. One eye was swollen nearly shut and turning dark. Her thighs were stained with blood and she hurt deep inside. Broud got up and looked down at her. He felt good; he had never enjoyed penetrating a woman so much. He picked up his weapons and headed back to the cave.

Ayla lay with her face in the dirt long after her sobbing stopped. Finally she pulled herself up. She touched her mouth, felt the swelling, and looked at the blood on her fingers. Her whole body ached, inside and out. She saw blood between her thighs and the stains on the gra.s.s. Is my totem fighting again? she wondered. No, I don't think so, it's not time. Broud must have wounded me. I didn't know he could beat me on the inside, too. But the other women don't hurt from it; why should Broud's organ wound me? Is there something wrong with me?

Slowly she got up and walked to the creek, hurting with every step. She washed herself, but it didn't help the throbbing, aching pain, or the turmoil in her mind. Why did Broud want me to do that? Iza says men want to relieve their needs with attractive women. I'm ugly. Why should a man want to hurt a woman he likes? But women like it, too; why else would they make the gestures to encourage men? How can they like it? Oga never minds it when Broud does it to her, and he does it every day, more than once, sometimes.

Suddenly Ayla was horrified. Oh, no! What if Broud makes me do it again? I won't go back. I can't go back. Where can I go? My little cave? No, it's too close, and I can't stay there in winter. I have to go back, I can't live alone, where else can I go? And I can't leave Iza, and Creb, and Uba. What am I going to do? If Broud wants it, I can't refuse him. None of the other women would even try. What's wrong with me? He never wanted that when I was still a girl. Why did I have to become a woman? I was so happy about it, now I wouldn't care if I was a girl all my life. I'll never have a baby anyway. What good is being a woman if you can't have a baby? Especially if a man can make you do something like that? What good is it anyway? What's it for?

The sun was low when she plodded back up the knoll to look for her ptarmigan. The eggs, cushioned so carefully, were crushed, and stained the front of her wrap. She looked back at the creek and remembered how happy she was watching the birds. It seemed ages ago, another time, another place. She dragged herself back to the cave, dreading every step.

As Iza watched the sun disappear behind the trees in the west, she grew more anxious. She walked partway up all the paths in the nearby woods and to the ridge to scan the slope toward the steppes. A woman shouldn't be out alone; I never do like it when Ayla hunts, Iza thought. What if she was attacked by some animal? Maybe she's hurt? Creb was concerned, too, though he tried not to show it. Even Brun began to worry as it grew dark. Iza was the first to see her walking toward the cave from the ridge. She started to scold her for making her worry, but stopped before her first gesture.

"Ayla! You're hurt! What happened?"

"Broud beat me," she motioned, her expression dull.

"But why?"

"I disobeyed him," the young woman gestured as she walked into the cave and straight to the hearth.

What could have happened? Iza wondered. Ayla hasn't disobeyed Broud for years. Why would she rebel against him now? And why didn't he tell me he saw her? He knew I was worried. He's been back since noon, why is Ayla so late? Iza cast a quick glance in the direction of Broud's hearth and saw him staring across the boundary stones at Ayla, against all good manners, with a pleased smirk on his face.

Creb had taken in the whole scene: Ayla's bruised and swollen face and look of utter desolation, Broud watching her from the moment she returned with an arrogant sneer. He knew Broud's hatred had grown over the years-her placid obedience seemed to affect him worse than her girlish rebellion-but something had happened that gave Broud a sense of power over her. As perceptive as Creb was, he could not have guessed the cause.

Ayla was afraid to leave the hearth the next day, dawdling over her morning meal as long as she could. Broud was waiting for her. Thinking about his intense excitement of the day before had him stimulated and ready. When he gave her the signal, she almost bolted, but forced herself to a.s.sume the position. She tried to repress her cries, but the pain forced them from her lips, causing curious glances from those who happened to be nearby. They could no more understand why she was crying out in pain than they could understand Broud's sudden interest in her.

Broud reveled in his newfound dominance over Ayla and used her often, though many people wondered why he chose the ugly woman he hated over his own comely mate. After a time, it was no longer painful, but Ayla detested it. And it was her hatred that Broud enjoyed. He had put her in her place, gained superiority over her, and finally found a way to make her react to him. It didn't matter that her response was negative, he preferred it. He wanted to see her cower, to see her fear, to see her force herself to submit. Just thinking about it stimulated him. He had always had a strong drive; now he was more s.e.xually active than ever. Every morning that he wasn't away hunting, he waited for her, usually forced her again in the evening and sometimes at midday as well. He even found himself aroused at night and used his mate to relieve himself. He was young and healthy, at the peak of his s.e.xual prowess, and the more intensely she hated him, the more pleasure he derived.

Ayla lost her sparkle. She was dispirited, morose, unresponsive to anything else. The only emotion she felt was an all-consuming hatred of Broud and his daily penetration of her. Like a ma.s.sive glacier that sucks all moisture from the surrounding land, her loathing and bitter frustration drained away all other feelings.

She had always kept herself clean, washing herself and her hair in the stream to keep it free of lice, even bringing in large bowls of snow to set beside the constantly burning fire to melt for fresh water in winter. Now her hair hung limp in greasy tangles and she wore the same wrap day in and day out, not bothering to clean the spots or let it air out. She dragged at her ch.o.r.es until men who had never before scolded were rebuking her. She lost interest in Iza's medicines, never talked except to answer direct questions, seldom hunted and often returned empty-handed when she did. Her despondency cast a pall on everyone else around Creb's hearth.

Iza was beside herself with worry; she couldn't understand the drastic change in Ayla. She knew it was because of Broud's inexplicable interest in her, but why it should have that effect was beyond the woman. She hovered over Ayla, watching her constantly, and when the young woman first began to get sick in the mornings, she was afraid that whatever evil spirit had gotten into her was gaining a greater hold.

But Iza was an experienced medicine woman. She was the first to notice when Ayla did not keep herself in the nominal isolation required of women when their totems battled, and watched her adopted daughter even closer. She could hardly believe what she suspected. But by the time another moon had pa.s.sed and the summer was waxing into full heat, Iza was sure. Early one evening when Creb was away from the hearth, she beckoned to Ayla.

"I want to talk to you."

"Yes, Iza," Ayla replied, hauling herself up from her fur and slumping down in the dirt near the woman.

"When was the last time your totem battled, Ayla?"

"I don't know."

"Ayla, I want you to think about it. Have the spirits fought within you since the blossoms dropped?"

The young woman tried to think. "I'm not sure, maybe once."

"That's what I thought," Iza said. "You're getting sick in the mornings, aren't you?"

"Yes," she nodded. Ayla thought her sickness was because every morning that Broud wasn't gone hunting, he was there, waiting for her, and she hated it so much, she was losing her breakfast, and sometimes her evening meal, too.

"Have your b.r.e.a.s.t.s felt sore?"

"A little."

"And they've grown larger, too, haven't they?"

"I think so. Why are you asking? Why all these questions?"

The woman looked at her seriously. "Ayla, I don't know how it happened, I can hardly believe it, but I'm sure it's true."

"What's true?"

"Your totem has been defeated; you are going to have a baby."

"A baby? Me? I can't have a baby," Ayla protested. "My totem is too strong."

"I know, Ayla. I can't understand it, but you are going to have a baby," Iza repeated.

A look of wonder crept into Ayla's unresponsive eyes. "Can it be true! Can it really be true! Me, have a baby? Oh, mother, how wonderful!"

"Ayla, you're not mated. I don't think there's a man in the clan who will take you, even as second woman. You can't have a child without a mate, it might be unlucky," Iza motioned earnestly. "It would be best to take something to lose it. I think mistletoe would be best. You know, the plant with the small white berries that grows high in the oak. It's very effective and, if properly handled, not too dangerous. I'll make you a tea of the leaves with just a few berries. It will help your totem expel the new life. It will make you a little sick, but ..."

"No! No!" Ayla was shaking her head vigorously. "Iza, no. I don't want to take mistletoe. I don't want to take anything to lose it. I want a baby, mother. I've wanted one ever since Uba was born. I never thought it would be possible."

"But Ayla, what if the baby is unlucky? It might even be deformed."

"It won't be unlucky, I won't let it. I promise, I'll take good care of myself so it will be healthy. Didn't you say a strong totem helps to make a healthy baby once it succ.u.mbs? And I'll take good care of it after it's born, I won't let anything happen. Iza, I've got to have this baby. Don't you see? My totem may never be defeated again. This may be my only chance."

Iza looked into the pleading eyes of the young woman. It was the first spark of life she had seen since the day Broud beat her while she was out hunting. She knew she should insist that Ayla take the medicine; it wasn't right for an unmated woman to give birth if it could be helped. But Ayla wanted the baby so desperately, she might go into a worse depression if she was made to give it up. And maybe she was right-it might be her only chance.

"All right, Ayla," she acquiesced. "If you want it so much. It would be best not to mention it to anyone yet; they'll know soon enough."

"Oh, Iza," she said, and gave the woman a hug. As the miracle of her impossible pregnancy filled her, a smile danced across her face. She jumped up, charged with energy. She couldn't sit still, she just had to do something.

"Mother, what are you cooking tonight? Let me help."

"Aurochs stew," the woman replied, amazed at the sudden transformation in the young woman. "You can cut up the meat if you want."

As the two women worked, Iza realized she had almost forgotten what a joy Ayla could be. Their hands flew, talking and working, and Ayla's interest in medicine suddenly returned.

"I didn't know about mistletoe, mother," Ayla remarked. "I know about ergot and sweet rush, but I didn't know mistletoe could make a woman lose a baby."

"There will always be some things I haven't told you about, Ayla, but you'll know enough. And you know how to test; you will always be able to keep learning. Tansy will work, too, but it can be more dangerous than mistletoe. You use the whole plant-flowers, leaves, roots-and boil it. If you fill the water up to here," Iza pointed to a mark on the side of one of her medicine bowls, "and boil it down to a cup this size," Iza held up a bone cup, "it should be about right. One cup is usually enough. Chrysanthemum flowers sometimes work. It's not as dangerous as mistletoe or tansy, but not always effective, either."

"That would be better for women who tend to lose babies easily. It's better to use something milder if it will work-less dangerous."

"That's right. And Ayla, there's something else you should know about." Iza looked around to make sure Creb was still gone. "No man must ever learn of this; it is a secret known only to medicine women, and not all of them know it. It's best not even to tell a woman. If her mate asked her, she'd have to tell him. No one will ask a medicine woman. If a man ever found out, he would forbid it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mother," Ayla nodded, surprised at Iza's secrecy and very curious.

"I didn't think you'd ever need to know this for yourself, but you should know it as a medicine woman anyway. Sometimes, if a woman has a very difficult birth, it's best if she never has any more children. A medicine woman can give her the medicine without ever telling her what it is. There are other reasons that a woman might not want a child. Some plants have special magic, Ayla. They make a woman's totem very strong, strong enough to stop a new life from ever starting."

"You know magic to prevent pregnancy, Iza? Can a weak woman's totem become that strong? Any totem? Even if a mog-ur makes a charm to give strength to a man's totem?"

"Yes, Ayla. That's why a man must never find out. I used it myself after I was mated. I didn't like my mate; I wanted him to give me to another man. I thought if I never had children, he wouldn't want to keep me," Iza confessed.

"But you did have a child. You had Uba."

"Maybe after a long time the magic loses strength. Maybe my totem didn't want to fight anymore, maybe he wanted me to have a child. I don't know. Nothing works all the time. There are forces stronger than any magic, but it worked for many years. No one understands spirits completely, not even Mog-ur. Who would have thought your totem could be defeated, Ayla?" The medicine woman glanced around quickly. "Now, before Creb comes, you know the little yellow vine with tiny leaves and flowers?"

"Golden thread?"

"Yes, that's the one. Sometimes it's called strangle weed because it kills the plant it grows on. Let it dry, crush about this much in the palm of your hand, boil it in enough water to fill the bone cup until the decoction is the color of ripe hay. Drink two swallows every day that the spirit of your totem is not fighting."

"Doesn't it also make a good poultice for stings and bites?"

"Yes, and that gives you a good reason to have it around, but the poultice is used on the skin, outside the body. To give your totem strength, you drink it. There's something else you must take, while your totem is fighting. The root of antelope sage, dried or fresh. Boil it and drink the water, one bowl every day you are isolated," Iza continued.

"Isn't that the plant with the ragged leaf that's good for Creb's arthritis?"

"That's the one. I know of one other, but I've never used it. It's the magic of another medicine woman; we traded knowledge. There is a certain yam-it doesn't grow around here, but I'll show you how it is different from the ones that do. Cut it into chunks and boil it down and mash it into a thick paste, then let it dry and pound it into a powder. It takes a lot, half a bowl of the powder mixed with water to make it a paste again, every day you are not isolated, when the spirits are not fighting."

Creb entered the cave and saw the two women deeply engrossed in conversation. He could see the difference in Ayla immediately. She was animated, attentive, thoughtful, smiling. She must have snapped out of it, he thought, limping toward his hearth.

"Iza!" he announced loudly to get their attention. "Must a man starve around here?"