The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [232]
The women worked rapidly while the Clan watched. The thick, subcutaneous layer of the purposely fattened animal was carefully scraped 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 stalactites 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 stalactite 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