That was the reason for Mog-ur's anger, and his fear. By long tradition, only men were allowed to share in the ceremonies of the Clan. The consequences of a woman viewing even an ordinary ceremony held by a single clan meant that the clan was doomed. This was no ordinary ceremony. This was a ceremony of great significance for the whole Clan. Ayla was a woman; her presence could mean only one thing-irreversible, irredeemable misfortune and calamity to them all.

And she was not even a woman of the Clan. Mog-ur knew that now with a surety he could no longer deny. From the moment he became aware of her presence, he knew she was not Clan. He understood, as quickly, the consequences of her presence, but it was already too late. They were implacable and he knew that, too. But her crime was so great, he wasn't sure what to do about her; even a death curse was not enough. Before he decided, he wanted to know more about her, and through her, more about the Others.

He was surprised he felt her cry for help. The Others were different, but there had to be similarities, too. He felt he needed to know for the sake of the Clan, and he had a curiosity greater than normal for his kind. She had always intrigued him; he wanted to know what made her different. He decided to try an experiment.

Forcing his way into deeper recesses, the powerful holy man-controlling the nine brains that matched his and willingly acquiesced and, separately, another that was similar and yet different-took them all back to their beginnings.

Ayla tasted the primordial forest again, then felt it turn to warm salt. Her impressions were not as clear as the rest-it was new to her, this feeling of being and remembering the dawn of life, and her memories of it were subconscious and vague. But her innermost, earliest levels matched. The beginnings were the same, Mog-ur thought. She felt the individuality of her own cells and knew when they split and differentiated in the warm, nurturing waters still carried within her. They grew and split and diverged, and motion had purpose. Again a divergence and soft pulsations of life became hard and gave shape and form.

Another divergence, and she knew the pain of the first explosion of air breathed by creatures in a new element. Diverge, and rich loamy earth and the green of a young verdancy and burrowing to escape crushing monsters. Diverge, and security in reaching a limb across a chasm, and suddenly heat and dryness, and drought driving her back to the edge of the sea. Diverge, and traces of a missing link lost in the sea that enlarged her form and stripped her fur and changed her contours-and left cousins behind to revert to an earlier, more streamlined shape, but still air-breathing and milk-nursing.

And now, she walked upright on two hind legs, leaving forelegs free to manipulate, and eyes to see a farther horizon, and the beginnings of a forebrain. She was veering away from Mog-ur, starting a different path, yet not so far apart that he couldn't track it with his own, almost parallel one. He broke contact with the others, but they were far enough along to continue their own way. It was nearly time to break it anyway.

Just the two of them remained linked, the old man of the Clan and the young woman of the Others. He was no longer guiding, but he still tracked, and not only did he track her course, she tracked his. She saw land change from warmth to ice, even deeper and more bone-chilling than the ice of their own times. It was a land far away in s.p.a.ce as well as time, far to the west, she sensed, not far from a great sea many times larger than the sea that surrounded their peninsula.

She saw a cave, the home of some ancestor of the great magician, an ancestor who looked much like him. It was a hazy picture, seen across the chasm that separated their races. The cave was in a steep wall that faced a river and a flat plain. At the top of the cliff, a large boulder stood out distinctly. It was a long, slightly flattened column of rock that tilted over the edge, as though caught in the act of falling and frozen in place. The stone was from a different location, of a different material, an erratic, moved by raging waters and shifting earth until it lodged at the edge of the cliff that housed the cave. The picture wavered, but the memory of it stayed with her.

For a moment she felt an overwhelming sorrow. Then she was alone. Mog-ur could follow no more. She found her own way back to herself, and then a little beyond. She had a fleeting glimpse of the cave again, followed by a confusing kaleidoscope of landscapes, laid out not with the randomness of nature, but in regular patterns. Boxlike structures reared up from the earth and long ribbons of stone spread out, along which strange animals crawled at great speeds; huge birds flew without flapping their wings. Then more scenes, so strange she couldn't comprehend them. It happened in an instant. In her rush to reach the present, there was a slight overshoot, a small spike beyond her time, just to where she might have diverged again. Then her mind was clear, and she looked out from behind a pillar at ten men seated in a circle.

The Mog-ur was looking at her, and she saw in his deep brown eye the sorrow she had felt. He had forged indelible new paths in her brain, paths that let her glimpse ahead, but he could not forge new paths in his own. While she looked beyond, he caught a glimpse, not of the future, but of a sense of future. A future that was hers, but not his. He grasped the concept imperfectly, but he understood the potential of it, and quailed before it.

Creb could make almost no abstractions. He could count, only with great effort, to just beyond twenty. He could make no quantum leaps, no intuitive strokes of genius. His mind, he knew, was more powerful than hers by far; more intelligent perhaps. But his genius was of a different nature. He could ident.i.ty with his beginnings, and hers. He could remember more and better than any of his own ancient Clan. He could even force her to remember. But in her, he sensed the youth, the vitality of a newer form. She had diverged again, and he had not.

"Get out!" Ayla jumped at his sharp command, surprised he had spoken so loud. Then she realized he hadn't spoken at all. She had felt, not heard him. "Get out of the cave! Hurry! Get out now!"

She sprang from her hiding place and ran down the pa.s.sage. Some of the stone lamps had burned through the moss wicks, other were sputtering and dying. But there were enough to guide her way. No sound emerged from the inner caves where all the men and boys now slept the dreamless sleep. She came to the torches, some of them guttered, too, and finally dashed out of the cave.

It was still dark, but the faint glimmerings of a new day were beginning. Ayla's mind was clear, no trace of the powerful drug remained, but she was completely spent. She saw the women sprawled out on the ground, purged and drained, and lay down beside Uba. She was still naked, but noticed the morning chill no more than the other naked, sleeping women.

By the time Mog-ur reached the mouth of the cave after following behind her more slowly, she was in a deep, dreamless sleep. He hobbled up to her and looked down at her tousled blonde hair, as distinctly different from the rest of the women's hair as Ayla was herself, and a great heaviness descended on his soul. He should not have let her go. He should have brought her before the men and had her killed outright, then and there, for her crime. But what good would it do? It would not undo the catastrophe her presence had wrought, it would not cancel the calamity the Clan must bear. What good would it do to kill her? Ayla was only one of her kind, and she was the one he loved.

25*

Goov walked out of the cave, blinked at the morning sunlight, rubbed his eyes, and stretched. He noticed Mog-ur sitting hunched over on a log, staring at the ground. So many lamps and torches are out, he thought, someone could make a wrong turn and get lost. I'll ask Mog-ur if I should refill the lamps and put up new torches. The acolyte strode purposefully toward the magician, but stopped when he saw the old man's drawn face and the despondent slump of his shoulders. Maybe I won't bother him, I'll just go ahead and do it.

Mog-ur is getting old, Goov thought, walking back into the cave with a bladder of bear grease, new wicks, and extra torches. I keep forgetting how old he really is. The trip here was hard on him, and the ceremonies take a lot out of him. And there's still the journey back. Strange, the young acolyte mused, I never thought of him as old before.

A few more men wandered out of the cave rubbing sleepy eyes and stared at the naked women scattered on the ground, wondering, as they always did, what made them so exhausted. The first women to wake up ran for their wraps, then began to wake the others before too many more men came out of the cave.

"Ayla," Uba called, shaking the woman, "Ayla, wake up."

"Mmmmfff," Ayla mumbled, and rolled over.

"Ayla! Ayla!" Uba said again, shaking her harder. "Ebra, I can't get her up."

"Ayla!" the woman said louder, shaking her roughly. Ayla opened her eyes and tried to signal an answer, then closed them again and curled up in a tight ball.

"Ayla! Ayla!" Ebra said again. The young woman opened her eyes once more.

"Go into the cave and sleep it off, Ayla. You can't stay out here, the men are getting up," Ebra commanded.

The young woman stumbled toward the cave. A moment later she was back out, wide awake, but drained of color.

"What's wrong?" Uba motioned. "You're white. You look like you've seen a spirit."

"Uba. Oh, Uba. The bowl." Ayla slumped to the ground and buried her face in her hands.

"The bowl? What bowl, Ayla? I don't understand."

"It's broken," Ayla managed to gesture.

"Broken?" Ebra said. "Why should a broken bowl bother you so much? You can make another."

"No, I can't. Not like that one. It's Iza's bowl, the one she got from her mother."

"Mother's bowl? Mother's ceremonial bowl?" Uba asked, her face stricken.

The dry, brittle wood of the ancient relic had lost all its resilience after so many generations of use. A hairline crack had developed but went unnoticed beneath the white coating. The shock of dropping from Ayla's hand to the hard stone floor of the cave was more than it could take. It had split in two.

Ayla didn't notice Creb look up when she ran out of the cave. The knowledge that the venerable bowl was broken put a grim note of finality on his thoughts. It's fitting. Never again will the magic of those roots be used. I will never again hold any ceremony with them, and I will not teach Goov how they were used before. The Clan will forget them. The old cripple leaned heavily on his staff and pulled himself up, feeling twinges of pain in his arthritic joints. I have sat in cold caves long enough; it is time for Goov to take over. He's young for it, but I'm too old. If I push him, he can be ready in a year or two. He may have to be. Who knows how much longer I'll last?

Brun noticed a marked change in the old magician. He thought Mog-ur's depression was caused by a natural letdown after the excitement, especially since this would be his last Clan Gathering. Even so, Brun worried how he would weather the trip back and was sure he would slow them down on the way home. Brun decided to take his hunters on one last foray, and then exchange the fresh meat for some of the host clan's stored provisions to supplement their supply for the return trip.

After the successful hunt, Brun was in a hurry to leave. A few clans had left already. With the festivities over, his thoughts returned to the home cave and the people left behind, but he was in good spirits. The challenge to his position had never been greater; it made the victory all the more satisfactory. He was pleased with himself, pleased with his clan, and pleased with Ayla. She was a good medicine woman; he had seen it before. When someone's life was threatened, she forgot everything else, just like Iza. Brun knew Mog-ur had been instrumental in persuading the other magicians, but it was Ayla herself who proved it when she saved the young hunter's life. He and his mate were going to stay with the host clan until he was well enough to travel, probably wintering with them.

Mog-ur never spoke of Ayla's clandestine visit to the small chamber deep in the mountain-except once. She was packing, getting ready to depart the next morning, when Creb shuffled into the second cave. He had been avoiding her, and it hurt the young woman who loved him. He stopped short when he saw her, and turned to leave, but she cut off his departure by rushing up and sitting at his feet. He looked down at her bowed head, heaved a sigh, and tapped her shoulder.

She looked up, shocked to see how much he had aged in just a few days. The disfiguring scar and flap of skin that covered his empty eye socket were shriveled and sunk deeper into the shadow of his overhanging brow ridges. His gray beard hung limp from his prognathous jaw, and his low, back-slanted forehead was emphasized by a receding hairline; but it was the dark sorrow in his one, liquid, deep brown eye that overwhelmed her. What had she done to him? She wished fervently she could take back her trip into the cave that night. The hurt she felt for Creb when she saw his body racked with pain was nothing to the anguish she felt for the pain in Mog-ur's soul.

"What is it, Ayla?" he motioned.

"Mog-ur, I...I ..." she fumbled, then rushed on. "Oh, Creb. I can't stand to see you hurting so. What can I do? I'll go to Brun, if you want, I'll do anything you ask. Just tell me what to do."

What can can you do, Ayla, he thought. Can you change who you are? Can you take back the damage you did? The Clan will die, only you and your kind will be left. We are an ancient people. We have kept our traditions, honored the spirits and Great Ursus, but it is over for us, finished. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it wasn't you, Ayla, but your kind. Is that why you were brought to us? To tell me? The earth we leave is beautiful and rich; it gave us all we needed for all the generations we have lived. How will you leave it when it is your turn? What can you do? you do, Ayla, he thought. Can you change who you are? Can you take back the damage you did? The Clan will die, only you and your kind will be left. We are an ancient people. We have kept our traditions, honored the spirits and Great Ursus, but it is over for us, finished. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it wasn't you, Ayla, but your kind. Is that why you were brought to us? To tell me? The earth we leave is beautiful and rich; it gave us all we needed for all the generations we have lived. How will you leave it when it is your turn? What can you do?

"There is one thing you can do, Ayla," The Mog-ur gestured slowly, emphasizing every movement. His eye turned cold. "You can never mention it again."

He stood as tall as his one good leg would allow, trying not to lean too much on his staff. Then, with all the pride in himself and his People he could gather, he turned with stiff dignity and walked out of the cave.

"Broud!"

The young man strode over to the man who had greeted him. The women of Brun's clan were hurrying to finish the morning meal, they planned to leave as soon as they ate, and the men were taking one last opportunity to talk to people they would not see again for seven years. Some they would never see again. They were lingering over the details of the exciting meeting to make it last just a little longer.

"You did well this time, Broud, and by the next Gathering, you will be leader."

"Next time you may do as well," Broud gestured, puffing up with pride. "We were just lucky."

"You are lucky. Your clan is first, your mog-ur is first, even your medicine woman is first. You know, Broud, you're lucky to have Ayla. Not many medicine women would brave a cave bear to save a hunter."

Broud scowled slightly, then saw Voord and walked over to him.

"Voord!" he hailed, motioning a greeting. "You did well this time. I was glad when they chose you over Nouz. He was all right, but you were definitely better."

"But you deserved to be first choice, Broud. You ran a good race, too. Your whole clan deserves its place; even your medicine woman is best, though I had my doubts at first. She'll be a good medicine woman to have around when you are leader. I only hope she doesn't get any taller. Between you and me, I feel strange having to look up at a woman."

"Yes, the woman is too tall," Broud said with stiff gestures.

"But what does it matter, as long as she's a good medicine woman, right?"

Broud barely nodded, then waved aside further discussion and walked away. Ayla, Ayla, I'm getting tired of Ayla, he thought, heading across the cleared s.p.a.ce.

"Broud, I wanted to see you before you left," a man said, walking over to meet him halfway. "You know there is a woman in my clan with a daughter deformed like the son of your medicine woman. I talked to Brun and he has agreed to accept her, but he wanted me to talk to you. You'll most likely be leader by then. The mother has promised to raise her daughter to be a good woman, worthy of the first clan and the son of the first medicine woman. You don't have any objections, do you, Broud? It's a logical match."

"No," Broud gestured curtly and turned on his heel. If he hadn't been so angry, he might have objected, but he didn't feel like getting into a discussion about Ayla.

"By the way, that was a good race, Broud."

The young man didn't see the comment, his back was already turned. As he stalked toward the cave, he saw two women avidly engrossed in conversation. He knew he should look away to avoid seeing what they were saying, but he just stared straight ahead, affecting not to notice them.

"...I just couldn't believe she was a woman of the Clan, and then, when I saw her baby...But the way she walked right up to Ursus, just like she belonged to the host clan, not afraid of him or anything. I couldn't have done it."

"I talked to her for a while, she's really nice, and she acts perfectly normal. I can't help but wonder, though, do you think she'll ever find a mate? She's so tall, what man wants a woman taller than he is? Even if she is a first-ranked medicine woman."

"Someone told me one clan is considering her, but there just wasn't time to work out the details, and I think they want to talk about it. They said they'd send a runner if they decide to accept her."

"But don't they have a new cave? They say she found it, and that it's very big, and lucky, too."

"It's supposed to be near the sea, and the paths are well used. I think a good runner could find them."

Broud pa.s.sed the two women and had to restrain an urge to cuff the lazy, gossiping busybodies. But they weren't of his clan, and though it was his prerogative to discipline any woman, it wasn't good policy to cuff one from another clan without permission of mates or leaders, unless the infractions were obvious. It was obvious enough to him, but it might not be to someone else.

"Our medicine woman says she's skilled," Norg was saying as Broud entered the cave.

"She is Iza's daughter," Brun motioned, "and Iza has trained her well."

"It's a shame Iza couldn't make it. She is ill, I understand."

"Yes, that's one reason I want to hurry. We have a long way to go. Your hospitality has been excellent, Norg, but one's own cave is home. This has been one of the best Clan Gatherings. It will be long remembered," Brun said.

Broud turned his back, clenching his fists, before he could see the compliment Norg paid to the son of Brun's mate. Ayla, Ayla, Ayla. Everybody is talking about Ayla. You'd think no one did anything at this Clan Gathering except her. Was she first chosen? Who was on the bear's head while she was safely on the ground? So what if she saved that hunter's life, he'll probably never walk again. She's ugly, and she's too tall, and her son is deformed, and they should know how insolent she is at home.

Just then, Ayla ran past, carrying several bundles. Broud's look of hate was so full of malice it made her flinch. What did I do now? she thought. I've hardly seen Broud the whole time we've been here.

Broud was a full-grown, powerfully built man of the Clan, but the threat he posed was far greater than mere physical harm. He was the son of the leader's mate, and destined to be leader himself one day. He thought about that as he watched Ayla put her bundles down outside the cave.

After they ate, the women quickly packed the few utensils they had used to make the morning meal. Brun was impatient to leave, and so were they. Ayla had a few last gestures with some of the medicine women, Norg's mate, and a few others, then wrapped her son in his carrying cloak and took her place in front of the women of Brun's clan. Brun gave a signal, and they started across the cleared area in front of the cave. Before rounding the bend in the trail, Brun stopped, and they all turned to look back one last time. Norg and his whole clan were standing at the mouth of their cave.

"Walk with Ursus," Norg signaled.

Brun nodded and started out again. It would be seven years before they saw Norg again-or perhaps never. Only the Spirit of the Great Cave Bear knew.

Just as Brun had thought, the return trip was difficult for Creb. No longer buoyed by antic.i.p.ation, and further depressed by brooding over the knowledge he kept secret, the old man's body betrayed him time and time again. Brun's concern deepened; he had never known the great magician to be so dispirited. He lagged behind. Many times Brun had to send a hunter back to find him while they waited. The leader slowed the pace, hoping it would make it easier for him, but Creb just didn't seem to care. The few evening ceremonies, held at Brun's insistence, lacked force. Mog-ur seemed reluctant, his gestures stiff, as though his heart wasn't in it. Brun noticed that Creb and Ayla kept their distance, and though she had no trouble keeping up, Ayla's step had lost its spring. There's something wrong between those two, he thought.

They had been traveling through tall, sere gra.s.s since midmorning. Brun glanced back; Creb was nowhere in sight. He started to signal one of the men, then changed his mind and walked back to Ayla instead.

"Go back and find Mog-ur," he motioned.

She looked surprised, then nodded. Giving Durc to Uba, she hurried back along the trail of bent, stepped-on gra.s.s. She found him quite a distance behind, walking slowly and leaning heavily on his staff. He seemed to be in pain. Ayla had been so stunned by his response to her loving remorse she hadn't known what to say to him afterward. She was sure he was suffering from his aching, arthritic joints, but he had refused to let her give him anything for the pain. After the first few rebuffs, she didn't offer again, though her heart ached for him. He stopped when he saw her.

"What are you doing here?" he gestured.

"Brun sent me back for you."

Creb grunted and started walking again. Ayla fell in behind him. She watched his slow, painful movements until she couldn't stand it anymore. She went around him and dropped to the ground at his feet, forcing him to stop. Creb looked down at the young woman for a long time before he tapped her shoulder.

"This woman would know why The Mog-ur is angry."

"I'm not angry, Ayla."

"Then why won't you let me help you?" she pleaded. "You never refused before." Ayla struggled to compose herself. "This woman is a medicine woman. She is trained to help those in pain. It is her place, her function. It hurts this woman to see The Mog-ur suffer, she cannot help it." Ayla couldn't maintain the formal posture. "Oh, Creb, let me help you. Don't you know I love you? To me, you are like the mate of my mother. You have provided for me, spoken for me, I owe my life to you. I don't know why you stopped loving me, but I haven't stopped loving you." Tears streamed down her face in hopeless desperation.

Why does water always come to her eyes when she thinks I don't love her? And why should her weak eyes always make me want to do something for her? Do all the Others have that problem? She is right, I never minded her help before, why should it matter now? She is not a woman of the Clan. No matter what the rest think, she was born to the Others and she will always be one of them. She doesn't even know it. She thinks she's a Clan woman, she thinks she's a medicine woman. She is a medicine woman. She may not be of Iza's line, but she is a medicine woman, and she has tried to become a Clan woman, as hard as it was for her sometimes. I wonder, how hard is it for her? This is not the first time water has come to her eyes, but how many times has she fought to hold it back? It's when she thinks I don't love her that she can't hold it. Can it hurt her so much? How much would it hurt me if I thought she didn't love me? More than I'd like to think. If she loves the same, can she be so different? Creb tried to see her as a stranger, as a woman of the Others. But she was still Ayla, still the child of the mate he never had.

"We'd better hurry, Ayla. Brun is waiting. Wipe your eyes, and when we stop, you can make me some willow-bark tea, medicine woman."

A smile broke through her tears. She scrambled up and fell in behind him again. After a few paces, she moved up to his weak side. He halted a moment, then nodded and leaned on her for support.

Brun noticed an improvement immediately and soon picked up the pace again, though they still weren't traveling as fast as he would have liked. There was an air of melancholy about the old man, but he seemed to be trying harder. I knew there was a problem with those two, Brun thought, but they seem to have worked it out. He was glad he had the idea to send her back for him.

Creb did let Ayla help him, but there was still a distance between them, a breach too great for him to span. He couldn't forget the difference in their destinies and it created a strain that dampened the easy warmth of earlier days.

Though the days were hot as Brun's clan trekked back to their cave, the nights were growing cool. The first sight of snowcapped mountains far to the west heartened the clan, but as the distance hardly diminished with the pa.s.sing days, the range at the southern tip of the peninsula became just a part of the scenery. The distance did diminish, though, however imperceptibly. As they continued day after weary day in their westward direction, the blue depths of creva.s.ses gave character to the glaciers and the indistinct purple below the icy crown took on shapes of outcrops and ridges.

They pushed on until dark before they made camp the last night on the steppes, and everyone was awake at first light. The plains merged into a parkland of open meadow and tall trees, and the sight of a gra.s.s-eating, temperate-climate rhinoceros brought a feeling of familiarity, after it went on its way without deigning to notice them. The pace quickened when they came to a path that wound up the foothills. Then they rounded a familiar ridge and saw their cave, and every heart beat faster. They were home.

Aba and Zoug were rushing to meet them. Aba welcomed her daughter and Droog joyously, hugged the older children, then took Groob in her arms. Zoug nodded at Ayla as he ran toward Grod and Uka, then Ovra and Goov.

"Where is Dorv?" Ika motioned.

"He walks in the world of the spirits now," Zoug replied. "His eyes got so bad, he couldn't see what anyone was saying. I think he gave up and didn't want to wait for your return. When the spirits called, he left with them. We buried him and marked the place so Mog-ur could find it for the death rites."

Ayla looked around, suddenly anxious. "Where's Iza?"

"She is very ill, Ayla," Aba said. "She hasn't been out of her bed since the last new moon."

"Iza! Not Iza! No! No!" Ayla cried, running toward the cave. She threw her bundles down when she reached Creb's hearth and rushed toward the woman lying on her furs.