The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [152]
“Ayla. Ayla,” he said gently. The girl looked up. “It’s time. You must come now.” Her eyes were dull, uncomprehending. “You must come now, Ayla. Brun is ready,” Creb repeated.
Ayla nodded and dragged herself up. Her legs were stiff from sitting so long. She hardly noticed. She followed dumbly behind the old man, staring at the trampled dust still bearing traces of those who had walked that way before—a heelmark, the imprint of toes, the blurred outline of a foot encased in a loose leather pouch, the round butt of Creb’s staff and the furrow of his dragging lame leg. She stopped when she saw Brun’s feet, wrapped in their dusty coverings, and dropped to the ground. At a light tap on her shoulder, she forced herself to look up into the clan leader’s face.
The impact jolted her to awareness and awakened an undefinable fear. It was familiar—low, swept-back forehead, heavy brows, large beaky nose, grizzled beard—but the proud, stern, hard look in the leader’s eyes was gone, replaced by sincere compassion and luminous sorrow.
“Ayla,” he said aloud, then continued with the formal gestures reserved for serious occasions, “girl of the Clan, the traditions are ancient. We have lived by them for generations, almost as long as the Clan has existed. You were not born to us, but you are one of us, and you must live, or die, by those same customs. While we were north, hunting mammoth, you were seen using a sling and you have hunted with a sling before. Clan females may not use weapons, that is one of our traditions. The punishment, too, is part of the traditions. It is the Clan way, it may not be changed.” Brun leaned forward and looked into the frightened blue eyes of the girl.
“I know why you used the sling, Ayla, though I still can’t understand why you ever started. Brac would not be alive if it hadn’t been for you.” He straightened and with the most formal of gestures, made so everyone could see, he added, “The leader of this clan is grateful to the girl for saving the life of the son of the mate of the son of my mate.”
A few glances passed among the watching clan. It was a rare concession for a man to make publicly, and more rare for a leader to admit gratitude to a mere girl.
“But the traditions make no allowances,” he continued. He made a signal to Mog-ur, and the magician entered the cave. “I have no choice, Ayla. Mog-ur is now setting the bones and speaking aloud the names of those who are unmentionable, names known only to mog-urs. When he is through, you will die. Ayla, girl of the Clan, you are Cursed, Cursed with Death.”
Ayla felt the blood drain from her face. Iza screamed and sustained it in a high-pitched wail, keening for her lost child. The sound was abruptly cut off as Brun held up his hand.
“I am not finished,” he motioned. In the sudden silence, glances of expectant curiosity passed quickly among the clan. What else could Brun have to say?
“The traditions of the Clan are clear, and as leader, I must follow the customs. A female who uses a weapon must be cursed with death, but there are no customs that say for how long. Ayla, you are Cursed with Death for one whole moon. If, by the grace of the spirits, you are able to return from the otherworld after the moon has gone through its cycle once and is in the same phase as now, you may live with us again.”
Commotion stirred the group; it was unexpected.
“That’s true,” Zoug motioned. “Nothing says the curse must be permanent.”
“But what difference does it make? How can someone be dead for so long and live again? A few days, maybe, but a whole moon?” Droog questioned.
“If the curse was only for a few days, I’m not sure it would fulfill