The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [231]
The bear waded into the squad of spear-wielding men who closed in on him. A swing of the raging animal’s powerful foreleg cleared a swath, knocking down three men and catching a fourth with a ripping gash that tore the muscles of his leg to the bone. The man doubled over in pain, in shock too severe to scream. The others stepped over and around him as they jostled to get in close enough to thrust spears into the belligerent beast.
Ayla clutched Durc in horrified awe, petrified that the bear would reach them. But when the man fell, his life’s blood spilling on the ground, she didn’t think, she just acted. Shoving her baby at Uba, she dashed into the melee. Forcing her way through the close-packed men, she half-dragged, half-carried the wounded man clear of the milling, stomping feet. Leaning hard on the pressure point in his groin with one hand, she held the end of the thong of her wrap in her teeth and cut off a piece with her other hand.
The tourniquet was in place and she was wiping away blood with her baby’s carrying cloak before two other medicine women followed her lead. Fearfully skirting the dangerous struggle, they ran to help her. The three of them carried the wounded man into the cave, and in their frantic efforts to save his life, weren’t even aware when the huge bear finally succumbed to the spears of the hunters of the Clan.
The moment the cave bear was down, Gorn’s mate broke away from the restraining arms of those who sought to comfort her, and ran to his body sprawled in an unnatural position on the ground. She threw herself on him, burying her face in his hairy chest. Sitting back on her knees, in frantic gestures she pleaded with him to get up. Her mother and Norg’s mate tried to pull her away as the mog-urs approached them. The most holy magician leaned close and gently tilted her head up to look at her.
“Do not grieve for him,” The Mog-ur signaled with a tender look of compassion in his deep brown eye. “Gorn’s was the greatest honor. He was chosen by Ursus to accompany him to the world of the spirits. He will help the Great Spirit intercede for us. The Spirit of the Great Cave Bear selects only the finest, the bravest, to travel with him. The Feast of Ursus will be Gorn’s feast, too. His courage, his will to win, will be remembered in legend and told at every Clan Gathering. Just as Ursus returns, so will the spirit of Gorn. He will wait for you so that you may return together and mate again, but you must be as brave as he. Put your grief aside and share your mate’s joy in his journey to the next world. Tonight, the mog-urs will give him a special honor so that his bravery will be shared by everyone, so it will pass on to the Clan.”
The young woman strove visibly to control her anguish, to be as brave as the awesome holy man said she must. She didn’t want to dishonor her mate’s spirit. The lopsided, disfigured, one-eyed magician whom everyone feared, somehow didn’t seem so fearsome anymore. With a look of gratitude, she got up and walked stiffly back to her place. She must be brave: Hadn’t the Mog-ur told her Gorn would wait for her? That someday they would return together and mate again? Her mind clung to that promise, and she tried to forget the desolate emptiness of the rest of this life without him.
When Gorn’s mate returned to her position, the mates of the leaders and their seconds deftly began to skin the cave bear. The blood was collected in bowls, and after the mog-urs made symbolic gestures over it, the acolytes passed through the crowd holding the vessels to the mouth of each member of their clan. Men, women, children all had a taste of the warm blood, the life fluid of Ursus. Even the mouths of babies were opened by their mothers and a fingerful of fresh blood placed on their tongues. Ayla and the two medicine women were called from the cave to partake of their share, and the injured man, who had lost so much of his own, had a gulp of bear’s blood restored to him. Everyone shared in the communion with the great