The women worked rapidly while the Clan watched. The thick, subcutaneous layer of the purposely fattened animal was carefully sc.r.a.ped away from the skin. The rendered fat had magical properties and would be distributed to the mog-urs of each clan. The head was left attached to the hide, and while the meat was lowered into the waiting stone-lined pits, heated by fires, for a full day, the acolytes hung the huge bearskin on poles in front of the cave, where his unseeing eyes could watch the festivities. The Cave Bear would be an honored guest at his own feast. When the bearskin was mounted, the mog-urs picked up Gorn's body and with solemn dignity carried it into the deep recesses of the cave. After they were gone, Brun gave a signal, and the crowd broke up. The Spirit of Ursus had been sent on his way with full and proper ceremony.

24*

"Then how did she do it? None of the others dared to get him, but she had no fear." The mog-ur of the clan to which the wounded man belonged was speaking. "It was almost as though she knew Ursus wouldn't hurt her, just like the first day. I think The Mog-ur is right, Ursus has accepted her. She is a woman of the Clan. Our medicine woman said she saved his life, she's not only well-trained, she has a natural skill, like she was born to it. I believe she must be of Iza's line."

The mog-urs were in a small cave deep inside the mountain. Stone lamps, shallow saucers filled with bear grease absorbed by a dried moss wick, formed circles of light that pushed back the absolute black that surrounded them. The feeble flames glinted off hidden facets in the crystal matrix of the rocks, and were reflected in the glistening sheen of damp stalact.i.tes hanging in eternal icicles from the roof, longing to reach their inverted counterparts growing from the floor. Some had succeeded in forming a union. Strained through the stone of ages, the calcereous drops had culminated in stately columns that reached from floor to vaulted ceiling, thinning at the center. One straining stalact.i.te missed the satisfying kiss of its stalagmitic mate by barely a hairbreadth-that would take more ages yet to bridge.

"She did surprise everyone when she showed no fear of Ursus that first day," another magician said. "But if it is agreed, is there still time for her to prepare?"

"There is time," The Mog-ur answered, "if we hurry."

"She was born to the Others, how can she be a woman of the Clan?" the flute-playing mog-ur demanded. "Others are not Clan, they never will be. You say she came to you already marked with Clan totem scars, but those are not the marks of a woman's totem. How can you be sure they're Clan marks? Clan women do not have Cave Lion totems."

"I never said she was born with it," The Mog-ur said reasonably. "Are you saying a Cave Lion cannot choose a woman? A Cave Lion can choose whomever he wants. She was nearly dead when she was found; Iza brought her back to life. Do you think a young girl could escape a cave lion if she wasn't under the protection of his Spirit? He marked her with his sign so there could be no doubt. Those are Clan totem marks on her leg, no one can deny that. Why would she be marked with Clan totem scars if she wasn't intended to become a woman of the Clan? I don't know why, I don't claim to understand why spirits do anything. With the help of Ursus, sometimes I can interpret what they do. Can any of you do any better? I will only say she knows the ritual; Iza has given her the secret of the roots in the red bag, and Iza would not have told her if she wasn't her daughter. We don't have to give up the ritual. I've already given you all my arguments before. You must decide, but do it soon."

"You said your clan thinks she's lucky," Norg's mog-ur motioned.

"Not so much that she is lucky, but she seems to bring luck. We have been very lucky since she was found. Droog thinks of her as a sign from one's totem, something unique and unusual. Perhaps she's lucky, too, in her own way."

"Well, it's certainly unusual enough for a woman of the Others to be a woman of the Clan," one of them commented.

"She brought luck to us today, our young hunter is going to live," the wounded man's mog-ur said. "I am agreeable; it would be a shame to miss Iza's drink if we don't have to." There were several nods of agreement.

"What about you?" The Mog-ur signaled to the magician who was second. "Do you still think Ursus will be displeased if Ayla makes the ritual drink?"

All heads turned to look at him. If the powerful magician still objected, he could sway enough of the other mog-urs to prevent it. If he just adamantly refused to partic.i.p.ate, even if the rest agreed, it would be enough. Agreement had to be unanimous; there could be no schism in their ranks. He looked down, pondering the question, then at each man in turn.

"It may or it may not displease Ursus. I am not convinced. Something about her bothers me. But it's obvious no one else wants to eliminate the ritual, and it seems she is the only one available. I'd almost prefer to use Iza's true daughter, in spite of her youth. If everyone else agrees, I will withdraw my objection. I don't like it, but I won't prevent it."

The Mog-ur looked at each man and received a nod of approval. With a relieved sigh, covered by his efforts to pull himself up, the crippled man quickly left. He hobbled through several pa.s.sages that opened into rooms then narrowed again into pa.s.sages, guided by stone lamps. They gave way to torches placed at closer intervals as he neared the living quarters of the clans.

Ayla was sitting beside the wounded young man in the front cave. Durc was in her arms and Uba on her other side. The man's mate was there, too, watching him sleep, occasionally glancing up at Ayla with grat.i.tude.

"Ayla, quickly, you must prepare yourself. There is little time," Mog-ur gestured. "You will have to hurry, but do not overlook a single step. Come to me when you are ready. Uba, give Durc to Oga to feed; Ayla won't have time."

They both stared at the magician, stunned by the sudden change in plans. It took a moment to comprehend, then Ayla nodded. She ran quickly to the hearth in the second cave to get a clean wrap. Mog-ur turned to the young woman anxiously watching her sleeping mate.

"The Mog-ur would know how the young man fares."

"Arrghha says he will live and may walk again. But his leg will never be the same." The woman spoke with a different dialect and everyday gestures modified so much that Ayla and Uba had had trouble communicating with her except with the formal language. The magician, however, had more practice with the common speech of other clans but used the formal language to make his meaning more precise.

"The Mog-ur would know this man's totem."

"Ibex," she signed.

"This man is as sure-footed as that mountain goat?" he asked.

"It has been said this man is," she began. "This man was not so agile on this day, and now I don't know what he'll do. What if he never walks again? How will he hunt? How will he provide for me? What can a man do if he can't hunt?" The young woman slipped into the common language of her clan as her taut nerves put her on the edge of hysteria.

"The young man lives. Is that not most important?" The Mog-ur said to calm her.

"But he's proud. If he can't hunt, he may wish he hadn't lived. He was a good hunter, he might have been second to the leader one day. Now he may never gain status, he'll lose status. What will he do if he loses status?" she pleaded.

"Woman!" The Mog-ur motioned with mock severity. "No man loses status who is the chosen of Ursus. He has already proved his manhood; he was almost chosen to walk with Ursus to the next world. The Spirit of Ursus does not choose lightly. The Great Cave Bear decided to allow him to remain, but he was still marked. This man is honored to claim Ursus as his totem now; his scars will be the marks of his new totem, he can wear them with pride. He will always be able to provide for you. The Mog-ur will speak with your leader; your mate has the right to claim a share of every hunt. And he may walk again, he may even hunt again. Perhaps he won't be as agile as the Ibex, he may walk more like a bear, but that doesn't mean he won't hunt again. Be proud of him, woman, be proud of your mate who was chosen by Ursus."

"He is the chosen of Ursus?" the woman repeated with a look of awe. "The Cave Bear is his totem?"

"And the Ibex, too. He can claim both," The Mog-ur said. He noticed the beginning of a bulge under her wrap. No wonder she is so distraught, he thought. "Does the woman have children yet?"

"No, but life has started. I am hoping for a son."

"You are a good woman, a good mate. Stay with him. When he wakes, tell him what The Mog-ur has said."

The young woman nodded, then glanced up as Ayla hurried by.

The small river near the cave of the host clan became a torrent of angry water in spring, only slightly less violent in fall, tearing giant trees out by the roots, gouging huge boulders from the rocky face, and hurtling them down the mountain. Even in its quieter moods, the surging stream, foaming down the middle of a rock-strewn floodplain many times wider than itself, had the greenish, cloudy cast of glacial runoff. Ayla and Uba had scouted the region near the cave shortly after they arrived to find the cleansing plants necessary to purify themselves in case one of them was called upon to partic.i.p.ate in the ceremony.

Ayla was nervous as she raced to dig up soaproot, horsetail fern, and red-rooted pigweed, and her stomach was a bundle of knots while she waited anxiously for boiling water from one of the cooking fires to extract the insecticidal element from the fern. The news that she would be allowed to perform the ritual spread rapidly through the Clan. The mog-urs' acceptance of her revised everyone's opinion of the Clan woman born to the Others, and her worth increased proportionately. It confirmed that she was indeed Iza's daughter and elevated her to the medicine woman of highest rank. The leader of the clan that had members who were Zoug's kin reconsidered his flat refusal to accept her. Zoug's recommendation just might have some merit after all. Maybe one of the men would take her, if only as second woman. She could be a valuable addition.

But Ayla was too worried to notice the comments fluttering around her. She was more than worried, she was terrified. I can't do it, her mind screamed, even as she ran to the small river. There isn't enough time to get ready. What if I forget something? What if I make a mistake? I'll disgrace Creb. I'll disgrace Brun. I'll disgrace the whole clan.

The glacier-fed river was icy, but the cold water calmed her raw-edged nerves. She felt more relaxed as she sat on a rock pulling tangles out of her long blonde hair drying in a light breeze, and watching the glowing pink mountaintop, reflecting the setting sun, deepen to a rich bluish purple. Her hair was still damp when she put her amulet back over her head and her clean wrap on. Stuffing her tools in the folds, she picked up her other wrap and ran back to the cave. She pa.s.sed Uba holding Durc on her way, and gave her a quick nod.

The women were working frantically, unhelped by totally unmanageable children. The gory ritual slaying of the cave bear had them keyed up; they were unused to going hungry and the smells of cooking stimulated appet.i.tes already sharp and made them irritable; and their mothers' preoccupation gave them a rare opportunity to indulge in misbehavior seldom allowed children of the Clan. Some of the boys had picked up the cut thongs from the bear's cage and wore them wrapped around their arms as badges of honor. Other boys, not as quick, tried to take them away, and all of them were racing around cooking fires. When they tired of the game, they teased the girls, supposed to be tending crying younger siblings, until the girls started chasing them around or running to their mothers to complain. It was a riotous, disorganized madhouse. Even the occasional stern command of some woman's mate did little to quell the unusually rambunctious youngsters.

Children were not the only ones hungry. Food, prepared in enormous quant.i.ties, tantalized the tastebuds of everyone, and antic.i.p.ation of the great feast and evening ceremony added to the frenzied excitement. Heaps of wild yams, white starchy breadroots, and potatolike groundnuts boiled gently in skin pots slung over fires. Wild asparagus, lily roots, wild onions, legumes, small squashes, and mushrooms were cooking in various combinations with subtle seasonings. A mountain of wild lettuce, burdock, pigweed, and dandelion leaves, freshly washed, was waiting to be served raw with a dressing of hot bear grease, seasonings, and salt, added at the last moment.

One clan's specialty was a combination of onions, mushrooms, and the round green legumes of milk vetch, seasoned with a secret combination of herbs and thickened with dried reindeer moss. Another brought a special variety of pinecones, from a tree that was unique to the area of their cave, that yielded large tasty nuts released by the heat of a fire.

Norg's clan toasted chestnuts gathered from the lower slopes and made a nut-flavored porridge sauce from cracked beechnuts, parched grains, and slices of small, hard, tart-sweet apples, cooked long and slowly. The area for some distance in the vicinity of the cave was stripped of blueberries, high-bush cranberries, and from the lower elevations, raspberries and wild mountain blackberries.

The women of Brun's clan had spent days cracking and grinding the dried acorns they brought. The pulverized nuts were put in shallow holes in the sand near the river and quant.i.ties of water poured over the pulpy mixture to leach out the bitterness. The resultant dough was baked into flat cakes, soaked in maple syrup until they were thoroughly saturated, then dried in the sun. The host clan, who also tapped their maple trees in early spring and boiled the watery sap for long days, were interested as soon as they saw the familiar birchbark containers that were used to store maple sugars and syrup. The sticky, maple-sweet acorn cakes were an unusual treat that the women of Norg's clan decided to try later themselves.

Uba, keeping an eye on Durc while helping the women, looked at the seemingly endless quant.i.ty and variety of food and wondered how they would ever be able to eat it all.

Smoke drifting upward disappeared into the still dark night filled with stars so thick a gossamer haze veiled the vault of the heavens. The moon was new and gave no hint of its presence, turning its back to the planet it circled and reflecting its light into the cold depths of s.p.a.ce. The glow of cooking fires lighted the area near the cave in contrast to the darkness of the surrounding woods. Food had been moved away from the full force of the heat, but left near enough to keep it hot, and most of the women had retired to the cave. They were changing into new wraps and relaxing for a few moments before the festivities.

But even the tired women were too excited to stay inside the cave for long. The s.p.a.ce in front began to fill with a milling crowd eagerly waiting for the feast and the beginning of the ceremony. A still hush descended as the ten magicians and their ten acolytes filed out of the opening, followed by a scramble to find places. It appeared to be a random a.s.semblage that faced the holy men. Positions of the audience were not defined by location so much as relationship to other people. Orderly ranks were not important, only that each individual was ahead or behind, or on the correct side of certain other individuals. There were always last-minute shufflings as people tried to find the best vantage point within their sphere of relationships.

With dignified ceremony, a large fire was lit in front of the dark hole in the mountain. Then the stones were removed from the tops of the cooking pits. The mates of the leaders of the first-ranked and host clans had the signal honor of lifting out the huge haunches of tender meat, and Brun's chest swelled with satisfaction when he saw Ebra step forward.

The mog-urs' acceptance of Ayla had finally decided the issue. Brun and his clan were a stronger first than they had ever been. Unlikely as it had appeared at first, the tall blonde female was a woman of the Clan, and a medicine woman of Iza's prestigious line. Brun's obdurate insistence that it was so had been proved correct, it was the will of Ursus. Had he wavered, for even a moment, his prestige would not have been as great, or his success as sweet.

Clouds of succulent steam caused empty stomachs to growl as the bear meat was removed with forked sticks. That was the signal for the other women to begin heaping platters of wood and bone and filling large bowls with the food they had labored so long to prepare. Broud and Voord stepped forward carrying large flat trays and stood in front of The Mog-ur.

"This Feast of Ursus also honors Gorn, chosen by the Great Cave Bear to accompany him. While he lived with Norg's clan, Ursus learned that his People had not forgotten his lessons. He grew to know Gorn well and found him a worthy companion. Broud and Voord, for your courage, your strength, your endurance, you were selected to show the Great Spirit the bravery of the men of his Clan. He tested you with his great strength and he is pleased. You did well, and you are privileged to bring him the last meal he will share with his Clan until he returns from the Spirit World. May the Spirit of Ursus always walk with us."

The two young men pa.s.sed by each of the women standing beside dishes heaped with food and selected the choicest morsels of each, with the exception of the meat. The captive cave bear had never been fed meat, though in the wild, he occasionally indulged when it was easily available. The trays were placed in front of the bear hide mounted on the poles.

Then, the Mog-ur continued: "You drank of his blood, now eat of his body and be one with the Spirit of Ursus."

The benediction signaled the beginning of the feast. Broud and Voord received the first portions of the bear meat, then proceeded to fill plates for themselves, followed by the rest of the Clan. Delighted sighs and grunts rose as they settled down to enjoy their repast. The meat from the hand-fed, vegetarian bear was tender and rich with marbled fat. Vegetables, fruits, and grains, prepared with meticulous attention, were savored to the fullest, and the appetizer of hunger made everything taste even better. It was a feast worth waiting for.

"Ayla, you're not eating. You know all the meat must be eaten tonight."

"I know, Ebra, but I'm just not hungry."

"Ayla's nervous," Uba gestured between mouthfuls. "I'm glad I wasn't chosen. This is so good, I wouldn't want to be too nervous to eat it."

"Eat some meat, anyway. You must do that. Do you have some broth for Durc? He should have a little, it will make him one with the Clan."

"I gave him some, but he didn't want much. Oga just fed him. Oga, is Grev still hungry? My b.r.e.a.s.t.s are so full, they're getting sore."

"I would have waited, but they were both hungry, Ayla. You can feed them tomorrow."

"I'll have enough milk for them and two more by then. They won't want anything tonight, they'll be sleeping. The datura sedative is all ready. Next time they're hungry, make them drink that first, so they will sleep. Uba will tell you how much, I have to see Creb right after we eat, and I won't be back until after the ceremony."

"Don't be too long, our dance will start after the men go into the cave. Some of the medicine women are really good at making the rhythms. The women's dance at Clan Gatherings is always special," Ebra motioned.

"I haven't learned to play very well, yet. Iza taught me a little, and the medicine woman from Norg's clan was showing me, but I haven't had much practice," Ayla said.

"You haven't been a medicine woman very long, and Iza has spent more time teaching you the healing magic than the rhythms, although they're magic, too," Ovra gestured. "Medicine women have to know so much."

"I wish Iza were here," Ebra motioned. "I'm glad they finally accepted you, Ayla, but I miss Iza. It seems so strange not having her with us."

"I wish she were here, too," Ayla said. "I hated leaving her behind. She's sicker than she likes to let anyone know. I hope she's getting lots of sun and rest."

"When it's her time to walk in the next world, she will go. When the spirit calls, no one can stop her," Ebra said.

Ayla shivered, though the night was warm, and a sudden sense of foreboding washed over her-a vague, uneasy feeling like a chill wind that hinted of the end of summer warmth. Mog-ur signaled and she quickly got up, but she couldn't shake the feeling as she walked to the cave.

Iza's bowl, white-lined with a patina from generations of use, was on her sleeping fur where Ayla had put it. She took the red-dyed pouch out of her medicine bag and emptied the contents. In the torchlight she began examining the roots. Though Iza had explained many times how to estimate the correct quant.i.ty, Ayla still wasn't sure how many to use for the ten mog-urs. The strength of the potion depended not only on number, but on the size of the roots and how long they had aged.

She had never seen Iza make it. The woman had explained many times the drink was too venerable, too sacred to be made for practice. Daughters usually learned by watching their mothers, from repeated explanations, and even more from the innate knowledge they were born with. But Ayla was not born to the Clan. She picked out several roots, then added one more to be sure the magic would be effective. Then she went to the place just inside the entrance, near a supply of fresh water, where Creb had told her to wait, and watched the beginning of the rites.

The sound of wooden drums was followed by the thudding of spear b.u.t.ts, and then the staccato of the long, hollowed-out tube. Acolytes moved among the men with bowls of datura tea, and soon they were moving to the heavy beat. The women stayed in the background; their time would come later. Ayla stood by anxiously, her wrap draped loosely around her, waiting. The men's dance grew more frenzied, and she wondered how much longer she'd have to wait.

Ayla jumped at a tap on her shoulder-she hadn't heard the mog-urs coming out of the back of the cave-but she relaxed when she recognized Creb. The magicians moved silently out of the cave and arranged themselves around the bearskin. The Mog-ur stood in front, and from her vantage point she got a fleeting impression that the cave bear, mounted upright with its mouth open, was about to attack the crippled man. But the monstrous animal towering over The Mog-ur was held in suspended motion, a mere illusion of strength and ferocity.

She saw the great magician signal the acolytes who were playing the wooden instruments. They stopped at the next accented beat and the men looked up, a little stunned to see the mog-urs where just an instant before, or so it seemed, there had been none. But the sudden appearance of the magicians was an illusion, too, and now the young woman knew how it was done.

The Mog-ur waited, letting the suspense build, until he was sure everyone's attention was riveted on the giant figure of the cave bear highlighted by the ceremonial fire and flanked by the holy men. His signal was inconspicuous and he made a point of looking in another direction, but it was the one Ayla was waiting for. She slipped out of her wrap, filled the bowl with water, and clutching the roots in her hand, she took a deep breath and walked toward the one-eyed man.

There was a startled gasp as Ayla walked into the circle of light. Clothed in her wrap, tied with a long cord that hid her shape with loose folds and pockets, and acting like any other female, she had begun to seem one of them. But without the disguising bulges, her true form stood out in sharp contrast to women of the Clan. Rather than the round, almost barrel-shaped body structure characteristic of both men and women, Ayla was lean. From side view she was slender, except for her milk-filled b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her waist dipped in, then filled out to rounded hips, and her legs and arms were long and straight. Not even the red and black circles and lines painted on her naked body could hide it.

Her face lacked the jutting jaw, and with her small nose and high forehead it seemed more flat than they remembered. Her thick blonde hair, framing her face in loose waves and reaching halfway down her back, picked up highlights from the fire and gleamed golden; an oddly beautiful crown for the ugly, obviously alien, young woman.

But more astounding was her height. Somehow, when she was moving in a hurried, hunched-over shuffle or sitting at the feet of some man, they hadn't been so aware of it before. Standing opposite the magicians, it was obvious. When she bowed her head, she looked down at the top of The Mog-ur's. Ayla was taller, by far, than the tallest man of the Clan.

The Mog-ur made a series of formalized gestures invoking the protection of the Spirit that still hovered near them. Then Ayla put the hard, dried roots in her mouth. It was difficult for her to chew them. She didn't have the large teeth and strong, heavy jaws of the people of the Clan. As much as Iza had cautioned her against swallowing any of the juices that formed in her mouth, she couldn't help it. She didn't really know how long it was supposed to take to soften the roots, but it seemed to her she had to chew and chew and chew. By the time she spat out the last of the masticated pulp, she was feeling light-headed. She stirred it until the fluid in the ancient, sacred bowl turned a watery white, then she pa.s.sed it to Goov.

The acolytes had waited while she worked at the roots, each holding a bowl of long-steeped datura tea. Goov handed the bowl of white liquid Ayla gave him to Mog-ur, then picked up his bowl and gave it to Ayla as the other apprentice magicians gave theirs to the medicine women of their clans. An exchange in kind and value. The Mog-ur took a sip of the liquid.

"It's strong," the holy man motioned in guarded gestures to Goov. "Give less." Goov nodded and took the bowl, then walked to the mog-ur who was second.

Ayla and the medicine women carried their bowls to the waiting women and gave controlled amounts of the liquid to them and the older girls. Ayla drained the last dregs from her bowl, but she was already feeling a strange sense of distance, as though a part of her was detached and watching from some other place. Several of the older medicine women took up the wooden drums and began to beat out the rhythms of the women's dance. Ayla watched the moving sticks with intense fascination, each beat sounding precise and clear. The medicine woman of Norg's clan offered a bowl drum to her. She listened to the rhythm, tapping lightly, then found herself playing along.

Time lost all meaning. When she looked up, the men were gone and the women gyrating with a wildly free, erotic frenzy. She felt an urge to join them, put the drum down, and watched it fall over and spin a few times before it stopped. Her attention was diverted by the bowl shape of the instrument. It reminded her of Iza's bowl, the precious ancient relic entrusted to her care. She remembered staring into the white, watery liquid, her finger stirring it round and round. Where is Iza's bowl? she thought. What happened to it? She dwelled on the bowl, worried over it, became obsessed with it.

She had an image of Iza and tears came to her eyes. Iza's bowl. I've lost Iza's bowl. Her beautiful ancient bowl. Pa.s.sed on by her mother, and her mother's mother, and her mother's mother's mother. In her mind she saw Iza, and another Iza behind her, and another and another; medicine woman after medicine woman lined up behind Iza into an ancient misty past, each holding a venerable, white-stained bowl. The women faded, and her mind's eye zoomed in on the bowl. Then, suddenly, the bowl cracked, fell away in two parts, broken down the center. No! No! The scream was inside her mind. She was frantic. Iza's bowl, I've got to find Iza's bowl.

She stumbled away from the women and staggered toward the cave. It took forever. She scrambled through bone platters and wooden bowls holding the remains of the feast congealed in them, searching for the treasured container. The cave entrance drew her, dimly outlined by torches within, and she stumbled toward it. Suddenly her way was blocked. She was trapped, caught in the meshes of some coa.r.s.e, hairy creature. She looked up and gasped. A monstrous face with a huge, open mouth stared down at her. Ayla backed away, then ran toward the beckoning cave.

As she pa.s.sed through the entrance, her eye was caught by something white near the place where she had waited for Mog-ur's signal. She fell to her knees and carefully picked up Iza's bowl, cradling it in her arms. Milky fluid still sloshed around the softened root pulp in the bottom. They didn't drink it all, she thought. I made too much. I must have made too much. What will I do with it? I can't throw it away, Iza said it can't be thrown away. That's why she couldn't show me, that's why I made too much, because she couldn't show me. I made it wrong. What if someone finds out? They might think I'm not a real medicine woman. Not a woman of the Clan. They might make us leave. What should I do? What should I do?

I'll drink it! That's what I'll do. If I drink it, no one will know. Ayla held the bowl to her lips and drained it. The mysterious drink was strong to begin with, but the roots soaking in the small amount of liquid made it far more potent. She started into the second cave with the vague idea of putting the bowl in a safe place, but before she reached her hearth, she began to feel the effects.

Ayla was so disoriented, she didn't notice dropping the bowl on the ground just within the hearth's boundary stones. There was a taste in her mouth of ancient, primordial forest: rich damp loam, musty rotted wood, towering large-leafed trees wet with rain, huge fleshy mushrooms. The walls of the cave expanded, receding farther and farther away. She felt like an insect crawling along the ground. Minute details sprang into sharp focus. Her eyes traced the outline of a footprint, saw every small pebble, each grain of dust. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and watched a spider climbing a shining cable of silk glistening in the light of a torch.

The flame hypnotized her. She stared at the flickering, dancing light and watched black smoke curling up to the dark ceiling. She moved closer to the torch, then saw another one. She followed its beckoning flame, but when she reached it, another torch beckoned, and then another, drawing her ever deeper into the cave. She didn't notice when the fires of torches became the fires of small stone lamps s.p.a.ced far apart, and she wasn't noticed when she pa.s.sed by a large interior room full of men lost in a deep trance or the smaller room that held adolescent boys led by older acolytes in a ceremony that gave them a taste of the adult male experience.

With single-minded purpose, she walked toward each tiny flame, only to be drawn to the next one. The lights led her through narrow pa.s.sages that opened into larger rooms, then narrowed again. She stumbled on the uneven floor, groping for the damp rocky wall spinning around her. She turned into a pa.s.sage and at the far end saw a large, rosy glow. It was incredibly long; it went on and on forever. Often, she seemed to see herself from a great distance staggering along the dimly lit tunnel. She felt her mind drawn farther into the distance, into a deep black void, but she quailed before the immensity of nothingness and struggled to retreat from it.

Finally, she neared the light at the end of the tunnel and saw several figures seated in a circle. From some well of caution buried deep in her drug-clouded mind, she stopped short of the last mesmerizing flames and hid behind a stone pillar. In their lighted chamber, the ten mog-urs were deeply involved in a ritual. They had begun the ceremony that included all the men of the Clan, but left their acolytes to conclude it and retreated to the inner sanctum alone to conduct rites too secret even for acolytes.

Each man, cloaked in his bearskin, sat behind the skull of a cave bear. Other skulls adorned niches in the walls. In the middle of their circle was a hairy object Ayla couldn't identify at first. But when she did, only her drug-induced stupor kept her from crying out. It was the severed head of Gorn.

She watched with fascinated horror as the mog-ur of Norg's clan reached for the head, turned it over, and with a stone enlarged the foramen magnum, the great opening of the spinal column. The pink-gray jellied ma.s.s of Gorn's brain lay exposed. The magician made silent gestures over the head, then reached into the opening with his hand and tore out a piece of the soft tissue. He held the quivering ma.s.s in his hand while the next mog-ur reached for the head. Even in her stupor, Ayla felt a deep revulsion, but she was held spellbound as each magician dipped into the grisly head and withdrew a portion of the brain of the man who had been killed by the cave bear.

A whirling, spinning vertigo brought Ayla to the brink of the deep emptiness. She swallowed to keep from being sick. Desperately, she clung to the edge of the void, but when she saw the great holy men of the Clan move their hands to their mouths and eat Gorn's brain, she let go. The act of cannibalism drove her into an abyss of black s.p.a.ce.

She screamed soundlessly, unable to hear herself. She was unable to see, unable to feel, devoid of any sensations, but she knew it. She hadn't escaped into a mind-blanking sleep. The void had another quality, a terrifying, empty quality. Fear, all-encompa.s.sing fear, gripped her. She struggled to return, screamed silently for help, but was only drawn deeper. She sensed movement she could not sense as, faster and faster, she fell into the deep black infinity, into the endless cold void.

Suddenly, her motionless motion slowed. She felt a tickling sensation inside her brain, inside her mind, and a counterpull that slowly drew her back over the edge, out of the infinite hole. She sensed emotions alien to her, emotions not her own. Strongest was love, but mixed in was deep anger and great fear, and then, a hint of curiosity. With a shock, she realized Mog-ur was inside her head. In her mind, she felt his thoughts, with her emotions, his feelings. There was a distinctly physical quality to it, a sense of crowding without its unpleasantness, more like a touching that was closer than physical touching.

The mind-altering roots from Iza's red bag accentuated a natural tendency of the Clan. Instinct had evolved, in Clan people, into memory. But memory, taken far enough back, became identical, became racial memory. The racial memories of the Clan were the same; and with perceptions sensitized, they could share their identical memories. The trained mog-urs had developed their natural tendency with conscious effort. They were all capable of some control over the shared memories, but The Mog-ur was born with a unique ability.

Not only could he share the memories, and control them, he could keep the link intact as their thoughts moved through time from the past to the present. The men of his clan enjoyed a richer, fuller ceremonial interrelationship than any other clan. But with the trained minds of the mog-urs, he could make the telepathic link from the beginning. Through him, all the mog-urs shared a union far closer and more satisfying than any physical one-it was a touching of spirits. The white liquid from Iza's bowl that had heightened the perceptions and opened the minds of the magicians to The Mog-ur, had allowed his special ability to create a symbiosis with Ayla's mind as well.

The traumatic birth that damaged the brain of the disfigured man had impaired only a portion of his physical abilities, not the sensitive psychic overdevelopment that enabled his great power. But the crippled man was the ultimate end-product of his kind. Only in him had nature taken the course set for the Clan to its fullest extreme. There could be no further development without radical change, and their characteristics were no longer adaptable. Like the huge creature they venerated, and many others that shared their environment, they were incapable of surviving radical change.

The race of men with social conscience enough to care for their weak and wounded, with spiritual awareness enough to bury their dead and venerate their great totem, the race of men with great brains but no frontal lobes, who made no great strides forward, who made almost no progress in nearly a hundred thousand years, was doomed to go the way of the woolly mammoth and the great cave bear. They didn't know it, but their days on earth were numbered, they were doomed to extinction. In Creb, they had reached the end of their line.

Ayla felt a sensation akin to the deep pulsing of a foreign bloodstream superimposed on her own. The powerful mind of the great magician was exploring her alien convolutions, trying to find a way to mesh. The fit was imperfect, but he found channels of similarity, and where none existed, he groped for alternatives and made connections where there were only tendencies. With startling clarity, she suddenly comprehended that it was he who had brought her out of the void; but more, he was keeping the other mog-urs, also linked with him, from knowing she was there. She could just barely sense his connection with them, but she could not sense them at all. They, too, knew he had made a connection with someone-or something something-else, but never dreamed it was Ayla.

And just as she understood Mog-ur had saved her and was still protecting her, she knew the profound sense of reverence with which the magicians had indulged in the cannibalistic act that had so revolted her. She hadn't realized, she had no way of knowing, that it was a communion. The reason for the Gathering of the clans was to bind them together, to make them Clan. But Clan was more than the ten clans here. They all knew of clans that lived too far away to travel to this meeting; they went to Clan Gatherings closer to their own caves. They were still Clan. All Clan people shared a common heritage, and remembered it, and any ritual performed at any one Gathering had the same significance for all. The magicians believed they were making a beneficial contribution to the Clan. They were absorbing the courage of the young man who was journeying with the Spirit of Ursus. And since they were mog-urs, with special abilities within their brains, it was they who were capable of dispersing the courage to all.