Ayla put the baby in her lap. Uba started to move aside his swaddling, then looked up at Ayla for permission. The mother nodded.

"He doesn't look so bad, Ayla. He's not crippled like Creb. He's kind of skinny, but it's mostly his head that looks different. Not as different as you, though. You don't look like anyone else in the clan."

"That's because I wasn't born to the Clan. Iza found me when I was a little girl. She says I was born to the Others. I'm Clan now, though," Ayla said proudly, then her face dropped. "But not for long."

"Do you ever miss your mother? I mean your real mother, not Iza?" the girl asked.

"I don't remember any mother except Iza. I don't remember anything before I came to live with the clan." She suddenly blanched. "Uba, where will I go if I can't go back? Who will I live with? I'll never see Iza again, or Creb either. This is the last time I'll ever see you. But I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't let my baby die."

"I don't know, Ayla. Mother says Brun will lose face if you make him accept your son, that's why he's so mad. She says if a woman makes a man do something, the other men won't respect him anymore. Even if he curses you afterward, he'll lose face, just because you forced him to do something against his will. I don't want you to go away, Ayla, but you'll die if you come back."

The young woman looked at the stricken face of the girl, not realizing her own tear-streaked face held a similar expression. They both reached out to each other simultaneously.

"You'd better go, Uba, before you get in trouble," Ayla said. The girl gave the baby back to his mother and got up to leave. "Uba," Ayla called as the girl started to move the branches aside. "I'm glad you came to see me, just so I could talk to you once more. And tell Iza...tell my mother I love her." Tears were flowing again. "Tell Creb, too."

"I will, Ayla." The girl lingered for a moment longer. "I am going now," she said and quickly left the cave.

After Uba left, Ayla unwrapped the package of food she had brought. There wasn't much, but with the dried venison, it would last a few days, but what then? She couldn't think, her mind whirled in a maelstrom of confusion sucking her into a black hole of utter despair. Her plan had backfired. Not only her baby's life, but her own was in jeopardy. She ate, without tasting, and drank some tea, then lay down with her infant again, and slipped into the oblivion of sleep. Her body had its own needs, it demanded rest.

It was night when she woke again and drank the last of the cold tea. She decided to get more water while it was dark and there was no chance of being seen by searching men. She fumbled in the dark for the waterbag, and in a moment of panic lost her sense of direction in the stark blackness of the cave. The branches camouflaging the entrance, outlined eerily by a darkness not quite as black, reoriented her, and she quickly scrambled out.

A crescent moon, playing tag with racing clouds, shed little light, but her eyes, fully dilated by the black inside the cave, could see ghostly trees vaguely silhouetted in the dim glow. The whispering water of the spring, splashing over rocks in a miniature waterfall, reflected the shining sliver with a faint iridescence. Ayla was still weak, but she didn't get dizzy when she stood up anymore and walking was easier.

No men of the clan saw her as she bent near the spring under the concealing cover of darkness, but she was watched by other eyes more used to seeing by moonlight. Nocturnal prowlers and their night-feeding prey both drank from the same source as she. Ayla had never been so vulnerable since she wandered alone as a naked five-year-old child-not so much because of her weakness, but because she wasn't thinking in terms of survival. She wasn't on guard; her thoughts were turned inward. She would have been easy prey to any lurking predator drawn by the rich smells. But Ayla had made her presence felt before. Swift stones, not always lethal, but painful, had left their mark. Carnivores whose territory included the cave tended to shy away from it. It gave her an edge, a safety factor, a reserve of security from which she drew heavily now.

"There has to be some sign of her," Brun gestured angrily. "If she took food, it can't last forever; she's got to come out of hiding soon. I want every place that's been searched, searched again. If she's dead, I want to know it. Some scavenger would find her and there would be evidence of it. I want her found before the naming day. I will go to no Clan Gathering unless she's found."

"Now she's going to keep us from going to the Clan Gathering," Broud sneered. "Why was she ever accepted into the clan in the first place? She's not even Clan. If I were leader, I would never have accepted her. If I were leader, I wouldn't have let Iza keep her, I wouldn't even have let Iza pick her up. Why couldn't anyone else see her for what she is? This is not the first time she's been disobedient, you know. She has always flaunted the ways of the Clan, and gotten away with it. Did anyone stop her from bringing animals into the cave? Did anyone stop her from going off alone like no good Clan woman would think of doing? No wonder she spied on us when we were practicing. And what happened when she got caught using a sling? A temporary temporary death curse, and when she got back, she was allowed to hunt! Imagine, a woman of the Clan hunting. Do you know what the other clans would think of that? It's not surprising we're not going to the Clan Gathering. Is it any wonder she'd think she could force her son on us?" death curse, and when she got back, she was allowed to hunt! Imagine, a woman of the Clan hunting. Do you know what the other clans would think of that? It's not surprising we're not going to the Clan Gathering. Is it any wonder she'd think she could force her son on us?"

"Broud, we've all heard that before," Brun motioned wearily. "Her disobedience will not go unpunished, I promise you."

Broud's constant harping on the same theme was not only wearing on Brun's nerves, it was making an impression. The leader was beginning to question his own judgment, judgment that had to be based on adherence to long-standing traditions and customs that allowed little room for deviation. Yet, as Broud kept reminding him, Ayla had gotten away with a gradually worsening list of transgressions that did seem to lead to this unforgivable, deliberate act of defiance. He had been too generous with the outsider not born with an inherent sense of Clan rightness, too lenient with her. She took advantage of him. Broud was right, he should have been more strict, he should have made her conform, perhaps he never should have allowed the medicine woman to pick her up, but did the son of his mate have to keep on about it?

Broud's constant nagging made an impression on the rest of the hunters, too. Most were all but convinced Ayla had somehow blinded them with a smokescreen of deception and only Broud had seen her with clear eyes. When Brun was not around, the young man cast aspersions on the leader, hinting that he was too old to lead them effectively any longer. Brun's loss of face was a devastating blow to his confidence; he could sense the men's respect slipping away, and he could not bear to face a Gathering of the clans under such circ.u.mstances.

Ayla stayed in the cave, leaving only for water. Bundled in furs, she was warm enough even without a fire. The food Uba brought and the forgotten store of deer meat, dry as leather and tough to chew but highly concentrated nourishment, seasoned by hunger, made gathering or hunting unnecessary. It gave her time for the rest she needed. No longer drained by the demands of nurturing a not-quite-right fetus, her healthy young body, toughened by the years of strenuous physical exercise, was recuperating. She didn't need to sleep as much, but in some ways that was worse. Her troubled thoughts weighed on her constantly. At least when she was sleeping, she was free of anxiety.

Ayla was sitting near the mouth of the cave holding her sleeping son in her arms. White, watery fluid dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, and dripping from the other breast stimulated by his nursing, gave evidence that her milk had started to flow. The afternoon sun, hidden occasionally by fast-moving clouds, warmed the spot near the entrance with its dappled light. She was looking at her son, watching his regular breathing interrupted by twitching eye movements and little jerky spasms that started him making sucking motions with his mouth before relaxing again. She looked at him more closely, turning his head to see his profile.

Uba said you don't look so bad, Ayla thought; I don't think you do either. Just a little different. That's what Uba said, too. You just look different, but not as different as me. Ayla suddenly remembered the reflection of herself she had seen in the still pool. Not as different as me!

Ayla examined her son again, trying to remember the reflection of herself. My forehead bulges out like that, she thought, reaching up to touch her face. And that bone under his mouth, I've got one, too. But he's got brow ridges, and I haven't. Clan people have brow ridges. If I'm different, why shouldn't my baby be different? He should look like me, shouldn't he? He does, a little, but he looks a little like Clan babies, too. He looks like both. I wasn't born to the Clan, but my baby was, only he looks like me and them, like both mixed together.

I don't think you're deformed at all, my son. If you were born to me and born to the Clan, you should look like both. If the spirits were mixed together, shouldn't you look mixed together, too? That's the way you look, the way you should look. But whose totem started you? No matter whose it was, it must have had help. None of the men have a stronger totem than I have, except Creb. Did the Cave Bear start you, my baby? I live at Creb's hearth. No, it couldn't be. Creb says Ursus never allows his spirit to be swallowed by a woman, Ursus always chooses. Well, if it wasn't Creb, who else have I been close to?

Ayla got a sudden image of Broud hovering close to her. No! She shook her head, rejecting the thought. Not Broud. He didn't start my my baby. She shuddered with revulsion thinking of the future leader and the way he had forced her to submit to his desires. I hate him! I hated it every time he came close to me. I'm so glad he doesn't bother me anymore. I hope he never, never wants to relieve his needs with me again. How does Oga stand it? How does any woman stand it? Why do men have needs like that? Why should a man want to put his organ in the place babies come from? That place should be just for babies, not for men's organs to make all sticky. Men's organs don't have anything to do with babies, she thought indignantly. baby. She shuddered with revulsion thinking of the future leader and the way he had forced her to submit to his desires. I hate him! I hated it every time he came close to me. I'm so glad he doesn't bother me anymore. I hope he never, never wants to relieve his needs with me again. How does Oga stand it? How does any woman stand it? Why do men have needs like that? Why should a man want to put his organ in the place babies come from? That place should be just for babies, not for men's organs to make all sticky. Men's organs don't have anything to do with babies, she thought indignantly.

The incongruity of the meaningless act stayed in her mind, then a strange thought insinuated itself. Or do they? Could a man's organ have something to do with babies? Only women can have babies, but they have both girl and boy babies, she mused. I wonder, when a man puts his organ in the place babies come from, could he be getting it started? What if it's not the spirit of a man's totem, what if it's a man's organ that starts a baby? Wouldn't that mean the baby belongs to him, too? Maybe that's why men have that need, because they want to start a baby. Maybe that's why women like it, too. I've never seen a woman swallow a spirit, but I've seen men put their organs in women often. No one ever thought I'd have a baby, my totem is too strong, but I did anyway, and it started just about the time Broud was relieving his needs with me.

No! It's not true! That would mean my baby is Broud's baby, too, Ayla thought with horror. Creb is right. He's always right. I swallowed a spirit that fought with my totem and defeated him, maybe more than one, maybe all of them. She clutched her baby fiercely as though trying to keep him to herself. You're my baby, not Broud's! It wasn't even the spirit of Broud's totem. The infant was startled by the sudden movement and began to cry. She rocked him gently until he quieted.

Maybe my totem knew how much I wanted to have a baby and let himself be defeated. But why would my totem let me have a baby when he knew it would have to die? A baby that is part me and part Clan is always going to look different; they'll always say my babies are deformed. Even if I had a mate, my babies wouldn't look right. I'll never be able to keep one; they'll all have to die. What difference does it make, I'm going to die anyway. We're both going to die, my son.

Ayla held her baby close, rocking him and crooning while tears streamed down her face unnoticed. What am I going to do, my baby? What am I going to do? If I go back on your naming day, Brun will curse me. Iza said not to come back, but where can I go? I'm not strong enough to hunt yet, and even if I were, what would I do with you? I couldn't take you with me; I couldn't hunt with a baby. You might cry and warn the animals away, but I couldn't leave you alone. Maybe I wouldn't have to hunt, I can find food. But we need other things, too-wraps and furs and cloaks and foot coverings.

And where will I find a cave to live in? I can't stay here, there's too much snow in winter and it's too close; they'd find me sooner or later. I could go away, but I might not find a cave, and the men would track me and bring me back. Even if I did get away and found a cave and stored enough food to last through next winter, and even managed to hunt a little, we'd still be alone. You need more people than just me. Who would you play with? Who would teach you to hunt? And what if something happened to me? Who would take care of you then? You'd be all alone, just as I was before Iza found me.

I don't want you to be alone; I don't want to be alone, either. I want to go home, Ayla sobbed, burying her head in her infant's swaddling. I want to see Uba again, and Creb. I want my mother. But I can't go home. Brun's mad at me. I made him lose face and he's going to curse me. I didn't know it would make him lose face, I just didn't want you to die. Brun's not so bad; he let me hunt. What if I didn't try to force him to accept you? What if I just begged him to let you live? If I went back now, he wouldn't lose face; there's still time, there are two fingers left before your naming day. Maybe then he wouldn't be so angry.

What if he is? What if he says no? What if they take you away from me? I wouldn't want to live if they took you away now. If you have to die, I want to die too. If I go back and Brun says you have to die, I'll beg him to curse me. I'll die too. I won't let you go back to the world of the spirits alone, my baby; I promise if you have to go, I'll go with you. I'm going right now and beg Brun to let me keep you. What else can I do?

Ayla began throwing things into her collecting basket. She wrapped the baby in the carrying cloak and both of them in her fur wrap and pushed aside the branches that hid the small cave. As she was crawling out, her eyes fell on something glittering in the sun. A sparkling gray rock lay at her feet. She picked it up. It wasn't just one rock, but three small nodules of iron pyrite stuck together. She turned it over in her hand and watched the fool's gold glitter. As often as she had gone in and out of the small cave over the years, she had never seen the unusual stone before.

Ayla clutched it in her hand and closed her eyes. Can this be a sign? A sign from my totem?

"Great Cave Lion," she motioned. "Did I make the right decision? Are you telling me I should go back now? O Cave Lion, let this be a sign. Let this be a sign that you have found me worthy, that it was all another test. Let this be a sign that my baby will live."

Her fingers shook as she untied the knots of the small leather bag she wore around her neck. She added the oddly shaped glittering stone to the red-stained oval of mammoth tusk, the fossil cast of a gastropod, and the lump of red ochre. Her heart pounding with fear, and one desperate hope, Ayla started down to the cave of the clan.

21*

Uba came running into the cave gesticulating wildly. "Mother! Mother! Ayla's back!"

Iza's face drained. "No! It can't be. Is the baby with her? Uba, did you go to see her? Did you tell her?"

"Yes, mother, I saw her. I told her how mad Brun was, I told her not to come back," the girl motioned.

Iza hurried to the entrance and saw Ayla walking slowly toward Brun. She crumpled to the ground at his feet, leaning forward over her infant protectively.

"She's early, she must have misjudged the time," Brun motioned to the magician hurriedly shuffling out of the cave.

"She didn't misjudge, Brun. She knows it's early, she came back on purpose," Mog-ur signaled.

The leader eyed the old man, wondering how he could be so positive. Then he glanced down at the young woman and back at Mog-ur a little apprehensively.

"Are you sure the charms you made to protect us will work? She should still be isolated, her female curse cannot be over yet, it's always much longer after giving birth."

"The charms are strong, Brun, made from the bones of Ursus. You are protected. You may 'see' her," the magician replied.

Brun turned back and stared at the young woman huddled over her infant, quaking with fear. I should curse her right now, he thought angrily. But it's not the child's naming day. If Mog-ur is right, why did she come back early? And with the baby? He must still be alive or she wouldn't have him with her. Her disobedience is unforgivable, but why did she come back early? His curiosity was too much for him; he tapped her on the shoulder.

"This unworthy woman has been disobedient," Ayla began with the silent, formal motions, not looking directly at him, and not sure he would respond. She knew she shouldn't be trying to talk to a man, she should be in isolation, but he had tapped her shoulder. "This woman would speak to the leader, if it were allowed."

"You don't deserve to speak, woman, but Mog-ur has invoked protection in your case. If I want you to speak, the spirits will allow it. You are right, you have been very disobedient, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"This woman is grateful. This woman knows the customs of the Clan; she should have disposed of the infant as the medicine woman told her, but she ran away. She was going to return on her son's naming day so the leader would have to accept him into the clan."

"You returned too soon," Brun gestured triumphantly. "It is not the naming day yet. I can command the medicine woman to take him from you now." The tension that had knotted Brun's back since Ayla left relaxed as he made the motions and the full realization hit him. Only if the child lived seven days would tradition force him to accept the baby. The full time had not elapsed, he did not have to take him, he had not lost face, he was in command again.

Ayla's arms clutched involuntarily at the baby held to her breast with the cloak, then she continued: "This woman knows it is not yet the naming day. This woman realized it was wrong for her to try to make the leader accept her son. It is not a woman's place to decide if her child should live or die. Only the leader can make that decision. That is why this woman returned."

Brun looked at Ayla's earnest face. At least she came to her senses in time, he thought. "If you know the customs of the Clan, why did you return with a child that is deformed? Iza said you were unable to perform your duty as a mother; are you ready to give him up now? Do you want the medicine woman to do it for you?"

Ayla hesitated, hovering over her son. "This woman will give him up if the leader commands it." She made the signs slowly, painfully, forcing herself, feeling as though a knife were twisting in her heart. "But this woman promised her son she would not let him go alone to the world of the spirits. If the leader decides the baby may not live, she asks him to curse her." She slipped out of the formal language and pleaded, "I beg you, Brun, I beg you to let my son live. If he has to die, I don't want to live."

Ayla's fervent plea surprised the leader. Some women, he knew, wanted to keep their babies in spite of malformations and disfigurements, but most were relieved to dispose of them as quickly and quietly as possible. A deformed child stigmatized the mother. It advertised a certain inadequacy, an inability to produce a perfect baby. It made her less than desirable. Even if the deformity was small enough not to pose a major handicap, there were considerations of status and future mates. A mother's later years could be difficult if her children or her children's mates could not take care of her. Though she would never starve, her life could be miserable. Ayla's request was unprecedented. Mother love was strong, but strong enough to follow her child to the next world?

"You want to die with a deformed baby? Why?" Brun asked.

"My son is not deformed," Ayla motioned with the barest trace of defiance. "He's just different. I'm different, I don't look like people of the Clan. My son is, too. Any baby I ever have will look like him, if my totem is ever defeated again. I'll never have a baby that will be allowed to live. I don't want to live either, if all my babies have to die."

Brun looked at Mog-ur. "If a woman swallows the spirit of a man's totem, shouldn't the baby look like him?"

"Yes, it should. But don't forget, she has a male totem, too. Perhaps that's why it fought so hard. The Cave Lion may have wanted to be part of the new life. There could be something to what she says. I would have to meditate on it."

"But the child is still deformed?"

"It often happens when a woman's totem refuses to give in completely. It makes her pregnancy difficult and deforms the baby," Mog-ur replied. "I'm more surprised the child was male. If a woman's totem puts up a strong fight, it usually makes the child female. But we haven't seen him, Brun. Perhaps we should examine him."

Should he bother? Brun wondered. Why not just curse her now and dispose of the baby? Ayla's early return and penitent groveling eased Brun's wounded pride, but he was far from mollified. He had come too close to losing face because of her, and it wasn't the first problem she had caused him. She had returned, but what would she do next? And then there was the Clan Gathering, as Broud had reminded him so many times.

It was one thing to let Iza pick up a strange child and take her into his clan. But Brun had cause to reflect often lately on the impression it would make on the other clans to arrive at the meeting with a woman born to the Others. He wondered, looking back, how he had made so many decisions that were so unorthodox. Each one, at the time, didn't seem too unreasonable. Even allowing the woman to hunt was logical then. But, added together, and seeing them from an outsider's point of view, the effect was an overwhelming breach of custom. Ayla had been disobedient, she deserved to be punished, and cursing her would eliminate all his worries.

But a death curse was a serious threat to the clan, and he had already exposed them once to evil spirits because of her. Her voluntary return had prevented his disgrace-Iza was probably right, she had lost her mind temporarily from the shock and the pain. He did tell Iza he would have considered a request to let the baby live, if he had been asked. Well, she did ask. She came back knowing the full extent of her offense, knowing it and willing to face it, begging for the life of her child. He could at least examine the baby. Brun did not like making hasty decisions. He gave Ayla an abrupt signal, motioning toward Creb's hearth, then strode away.

Ayla ran into Iza's waiting arms. If nothing else, at least she would see the woman who was the only mother she knew, one last time.

"You've all had a chance to examine him," Brun said. "Under normal circ.u.mstances, I would not bother you; it would be a simple decision. But I want to know your opinions; a death curse is a strong possibility, and I don't like exposing the clan to evil spirits again. If you find the boy is acceptable, I can hardly curse the mother. Without her, another woman would have to take him, he'd have to live with one of you whose mate has a nursing child. If the baby is allowed to live, the punishment for Ayla should be less severe. Tomorrow is the naming day; I need to make the decision soon, and Mog-ur will need some time to prepare for a curse, if that is to be her punishment. It must be done before the sun rises in the morning."

"It's not only his head, Brun," Crug started. Ika was still nursing her youngest and Crug had no desire to have Ayla's infant added to his hearth, farfetched though the possibility was. "That's bad enough, but he can't even hold it up. It has to be supported. What will he be like when he's a man? How will he hunt? He'll never be able to provide for himself; he'd only be a burden on the whole clan."

"Do you think there's any chance his neck will get stronger?" Droog asked. "If Ayla dies, she will take part of Ona's spirit with her. Aga would take her son-she feels she owes Ayla that much-though I don't think she really wants a deformed baby. If she's willing, I suppose I would be, too, but not if he will burden the whole clan."

"His neck is so long and scrawny and his head is so big, I don't think it will ever be strong enough," Crug commented.

"I won't have him at my hearth for any reason; I wouldn't even bother to ask Oga how she feels about it. He's not fit to be a sibling to her sons; it would make him a brother to Brac and Grev-I won't allow that. Brac will survive even if she does take a little piece of his spirit with her. I don't know why you're even considering it, Brun. You were ready to curse her. Just because she came running back a little early, you're ready to take her back, and talking about taking her defective son besides," Broud gestured bitterly.

"She defied you by running away; coming back doesn't make her disobedience any less. What's there to discuss? The baby is deformed, and she should be cursed. That's the end of it. Why do you always waste our time with these meetings about her? If I were leader, she would have been cursed already. She's disobedient, she's insolent, and she's a bad influence on the other women. How else can you explain Iza's misbehavior?" Broud was working himself up to a fury, his gestures becoming more excited. "She deserves to be cursed, Brun, how can you think of anything else? Why can't you see it? Are you blind? She's never been any good. If I were leader, she would never have been accepted in the first place. If I were leader ..."

"But you're not leader yet, Broud," Brun returned coldly, "and you're not likely to be if you can't keep yourself under better control. She's only a woman, Broud, why do you feel so threatened by her? What can she possibly do to you? She must obey you, she has no choice. 'If you were leader, if you were leader,' is that all you can say? What kind of leader is so anxious to kill a woman that he's willing to jeopardize the whole clan?" Brun was on the edge of losing control himself. He had put up with all he could take from the son of his mate.

The men were shocked and uneasy. An open battle between the present leader and the future one was distressing. Broud had overstepped his bounds to be sure, but they were accustomed to his outbursts. It was Brun who caused the dismay; they had never seen the leader so close to losing his control. And he had never before openly questioned the qualifications of the son of his mate to follow him as leader.

For a tense moment, the two men locked eyes in a battle of wills. Broud looked down first. No longer jeopardized by loss of face, Brun was firmly in control again. He was leader, and not ready to step down. It put the young man on his guard; his footing wasn't as secure as he thought. Broud fought down the feeling of impotence and bitter frustration that welled up inside. He still favors her, Broud thought. How can he? I'm the son of his mate, she's just an ugly woman. Broud struggled to remain calm, swallowing the bitterness that rankled his soul.

"This man regrets he has caused the leader to misunderstand him," Broud motioned formally. "This man's concern is for the hunters he must lead one day, if the present leader thinks this man is capable of leading hunters. How can a man hunt if his head wobbles?"

Brun stared hard and angrily at the young man. There was an inconsistency in the meaning of the formal gestures and the unconscious signals of expression and posture. Broud's overly polite response was sarcastic, and it irritated the leader far more than direct disagreement. Broud was trying to hide his feelings and Brun knew it. But Brun was feeling shame at his own outburst. He knew it was prompted by Broud's increasingly derogatory remarks that cast doubt on his judgment. They had rubbed a sore spot on his pride. But that was no excuse for losing his own self-control enough to disparage the son of his mate so openly.

"You've made your point, Broud," Brun signaled stiffly. "I realize the baby will grow up to be more a burden to the leader who follows me and the one after, but the decision is still mine. I will do what I think best. I have not said the baby will be accepted, Broud, or that the woman will not be cursed. My concern is for the clan, not her or her child. A death curse can put everyone in danger; lingering evil spirits can bring bad luck, especially since they've been released before. I think the child is too deformed to live, but Ayla is blind to her baby's affliction. She can't see it. It may be that her strong desire to have a child has affected her mind. When she returned, she begged me to curse her if her son was not acceptable. I asked for your opinions because I wanted to know if anyone else saw something about the infant that I didn't. A death curse to punish her or to grant her request, it is still not a decision to make lightly."

Broud's frustration eased. Maybe Brun isn't favoring her after all, he thought. "You're right, Brun," he said contritely, "a leader should think of the dangers to his clan. This young man is grateful for such a wise leader to instruct him."

Brun felt his tension melt. He hadn't seriously considered replacing Broud, not ever. He was still the son of his mate, the child of his heart. Self-control isn't always easy, Brun thought, remembering his own irritation. Broud just has a little more trouble than most, but he is improving.

"I'm glad you understand that, Broud. When you are leader, you will be responsible for the safety and welfare of the clan." Brun's comment not only let Broud know he was still heir apparent, it relieved the rest of the hunters. They wanted the security of knowing that the traditional rightness of the clan hierarchy, and their own place in it, would be maintained. Nothing disturbed them quite so much as uncertainty about the future.

"It is the welfare of the clan I was thinking about," Broud motioned. "I don't want a man in my clan who can't hunt. What good will Ayla's son ever be? Her disobedience does deserve severe punishment, and if she wants to be cursed, it will satisfy her, too. We'd be better off without them. Ayla defied Clan traditions, deliberately. She doesn't deserve to live. Her son is so deformed, he doesn't deserve to live."

There was a general round of agreement. Brun detected a certain element of insincerity in Broud's reasoned argument, but he let it go. The animosity between them had dissipated and he didn't want to stir it up again. Open strife with the son of his mate disturbed Brun as much as it did the others.

The leader felt he should add his agreement, but something made him hesitate. It is, the right thing to do, he thought, she's been a problem from the beginning. Of course Iza will be upset, but I didn't promise to spare either of them, I only said I would consider it. I didn't even say I would look at the baby if she returned; who ever expected her to return, anyway? That's just the problem, I never know what to expect from her. If the grief weakens Iza, well, there's still Uba. After all, she was the one born to the line, and she can get more training from the medicine women at the Clan Gathering.

If the part of Brac's spirit she carries dies with Ayla, is it really so much of him to lose? Broud isn't worried about it, why should I worry? He's right, she does deserve the severest punishment, doesn't she? Such strong love for a baby isn't even normal. What do old women's tales prove? She can't even see that her son is deformed; she must be out of her mind. Can there be that much pain in giving birth? Men have suffered worse, haven't they? Some have walked all the way back after a painful hunting injury. Of course, she's only a woman, she can't be expected to bear as much pain. I wonder how far she went? The cave she mentioned can't be that far, can it? She nearly died giving birth, she was too weak to travel very far, but why couldn't we find it?

Besides, if she's allowed to live, I'll have to take her to the Clan Gathering. What would the other clans think? It would be worse if I allow her deformed child to live. It's the right thing to do, everyone thinks so. Maybe there wouldn't be so much of a problem with Broud, maybe he could control himself better if she wasn't around. He's a fearless hunter; he'd make a good leader if only he had a little more sense of responsibility, just a little more self-control. Maybe I should do it for Broud's sake. For the son of my mate, it might be better if she was gone. It is the right thing to do, yes, it really is; it's the right thing to do, isn't it?

"I have reached my decision," Brun signaled. "Tomorrow is the naming day. At first light, before the sun breaks ..."

"Brun!" Mog-ur interrupted. He had kept himself out of the discussion; none of them had seen much of him since the birth of Ayla's child. He had spent most of the time in his small annex searching his soul for an explanation of Ayla's actions. He knew how hard she had struggled to accept the ways of the Clan, and he thought she had succeeded. He was convinced there was something else, something he hadn't realized that had driven her to such an extreme.

"Before you commit yourself, Mog-ur would speak."

Brun stared at the magician. His expression was enigmatic, as usual. Brun had never been able to read Mog-ur's face. What can he say that I have not considered? I've made up my mind to curse her and he knows it.

"Mog-ur may speak," he motioned.

"Ayla has no mate, but I have always provided for her, I am responsible for her. If you will allow it, I would speak as her mate."

"Speak if you will, Mog-ur, but what can you add? I have already considered her strong love for the child and the pain and suffering she went through to have him. I understand how difficult it may be for Iza; I know it may weaken her too much. I've thought of every possible reason for excusing her actions, but the facts remain. She defied Clan customs. Her baby is not acceptable to the men. Broud made it clear neither one deserves to live."

Mog-ur pulled himself up to his feet, then threw his staff aside. Wrapped in his heavy bearskin cloak, the magician was an imposing figure. Only the older men, and Brun, ever knew him as anything but Mog-ur. The Mog-ur, the holiest of all the men who interceded with the world of the spirits, the most powerful magician of the Clan. When moved to eloquence during a ceremony, he was a charismatic, awe-inspiring protector. It was he who braved the invisible forces far more fearsome than any charging animal, forces that could turn the bravest hunter into a quaking coward. There was not a man present who did not feel more secure knowing it was he who was the magician of their clan, not a man who hadn't stood in fear of his power and magic at some time in his life, and only one, Goov, who dared to think of trading places with him.

Mog-ur, alone, stood between the men of the clan and the terrible unknown, and he became part of it by a.s.sociation. It imbued him with a subtle aura that carried over into his secular life. Even when he sat within the boundaries of his hearthstones, surrounded by his women, he was not really thought of as a man. He was more than, other than; he was Mog-ur.

As the dread holy man fixed a baleful eye on each man in turn, there wasn't one, including Broud, who didn't squirm in the depths of his soul with the sudden realization that the woman they had condemned to die lived at his hearth. Mog-ur seldom brought the force of his presence to bear outside his function, but he did then. He turned last to Brun.

"A woman's mate has the right to speak for the life of a deformed child. I am asking you to spare the life of Ayla's son, and for his sake, I am asking that her life be spared, too."

All the reasons Brun had so recently considered as rationale for sparing her life seemed to have far more weight now, and the arguments for her death, insignificant. He almost agreed on the force of Mog-ur's request alone, and it attested to the strength of his own character that he did not. But he was leader. He could not capitulate so easily in front of all his men, and despite a strong desire to give in to the force of the powerful man of magic, he held firm.

When Mog-ur saw the look of firm resolution replace the moment of indecision, the magician seemed to change before Brun's eyes. The otherworldly character left him. He became a crippled old man in a bearskin cloak, standing as straight as his one good leg would hold him without his staff for support. When he spoke, it was with the common gestures punctuated with the gruff words of everyday speech. His face held a determined, yet strangely vulnerable look.

"Brun, ever since Ayla was found, she has lived at my hearth. I think everyone will agree that women and children look to the man of their hearth to set the standard for men of the clan. He is their model, their example of what a man should be. I have been Ayla's example, I have set the standard in her eyes.

"I am deformed, Brun. Is it so strange that a woman who grew up with a deformed man as her model would find it difficult to understand a deformity in her child? I lack an eye and an arm, half my body is shriveled and wasted. I am half a man, yet from the beginning, Ayla has seen me as whole. Her son's body is sound. He has two eyes, two good arms, two good legs. How can she be expected to acknowledge any deformity in him?