The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [153]
“Then why didn’t he just curse her and be done?” Broud motioned angrily. “There’s nothing in the traditions about temporary death curses for her crime. She’s supposed to die for it, the death curse is supposed to be the end of her.”
“You think it won’t be, Broud? Do you really think she might come back?” Goov asked.
“I don’t think anything. I just want to know why Brun didn’t just curse her. Can’t he make a simple decision anymore?”
Broud was flustered by the pointed question. It brought out in the open the idea everyone had privately wondered. Would Brun impose a temporary death curse if he didn’t think there was some chance, no matter how remote, that she might return from the dead?
Brun had wrestled with his dilemma the whole night. Ayla had saved the baby’s life; it wasn’t right that she should die for it. He loved the child and he was sincerely grateful to her, but there was more to it than his personal feelings. The traditions demanded her death, but there were other customs, too: customs of obligation, customs that said a life for a life. She carried part of Brac’s spirit; she deserved, she was owed, something of equal value—she was owed her life.
Only with the first faint light of dawn had he finally thought of a way. Some hardy souls had returned after a temporary death curse. It was a long chance, almost no chance at all, just the barest glimmer of hope. In return for the life of the child, he gave her the one slim chance he could. It wasn’t enough, but he could offer no more, and it was better than nothing at all.
Suddenly a deadly silence fell. Mog-ur was standing at the mouth of the cave, and he looked like death himself, ancient and drawn. There was no need for him to signal. It was done. Mog-ur had fulfilled his duty. Ayla was dead.
Iza’s wail pierced the air. Then Oga began and Ebra, then all the women joined Iza, keening in sympathy with her. Ayla saw the woman she loved overwrought with grief and ran to her to comfort her. But just as she was about to throw her arms around the only mother she could remember, Iza turned her back and moved away to avoid the embrace. It was as though she didn’t see her. The girl was confused. She looked at Ebra questioningly; Ebra looked through her. She went to Aga, then Ovra. No one saw her. When she approached, they turned away or moved aside. Not deliberately to let her pass, but as though they had planned to move away before she came. She ran to Oga.
“It’s me. It’s Ayla. I’m standing right here. Don’t you see me?” she motioned.
Oga’s eyes glazed over. She turned around and walked away, making no response, no sign of recognition, as though Ayla were invisible.
Ayla saw Creb walking toward Iza. She ran to him.
“Creb! It’s Ayla. I’m here,” she gestured frantically. The old magician kept walking, barely turning aside to avoid the girl who crumpled at his feet, as he would an inanimate boulder in his path. “Creb,” she wailed. “Why can’t you see me?” She got up and ran back to Iza.
“Mother! Motherrr! Look at me! LOOK AT ME!” she gesticulated in front of the woman’s eyes. Iza began a high-pitched wail again. She flailed her arms and pounded her chest.
“My child. My Ayla. My daughter is dead. She is gone. My poor, poor Ayla. She lives no more.”
Ayla spied Uba hugging her mother’s legs in fear and confusion. She knelt down in front of the little girl.
“You see me, don’t you, Uba? I’m right here.” Ayla saw recognition register in the child’s eyes, but the next moment Ebra swooped down and carried the little girl away.
“I want Ayla,” Uba motioned, struggling to get down.
“Ayla is dead, Uba. She’s gone. That’s not Ayla, it’s only her spirit. It must find its way to the next world. If you try to talk to it, if you see