The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [233]
“She brought luck to us today, our young hunter is going to live,” the wounded man’s mog-ur said. “I am agreeable; it would be a shame to miss Iza’s drink if we don’t have to.” There were several nods of agreement.
“What about you?” The Mog-ur signaled to the magician who was second. “Do you still think Ursus will be displeased if Ayla makes the ritual drink?”
All heads turned to look at him. If the powerful magician still objected, he could sway enough of the other mog-urs to prevent it. If he just adamantly refused to participate, even if the rest agreed, it would be enough. Agreement had to be unanimous; there could be no schism in their ranks. He looked down, pondering the question, then at each man in turn.
“It may or it may not displease Ursus. I am not convinced. Something about her bothers me. But it’s obvious no one else wants to eliminate the ritual, and it seems she is the only one available. I’d almost prefer to use Iza’s true daughter, in spite of her youth. If everyone else agrees, I will withdraw my objection. I don’t like it, but I won’t prevent it.”
The Mog-ur looked at each man and received a nod of approval. With a relieved sigh, covered by his efforts to pull himself up, the crippled man quickly left. He hobbled through several passages that opened into rooms then narrowed again into passages, guided by stone lamps. They gave way to torches placed at closer intervals as he neared the living quarters of the clans.
Ayla was sitting beside the wounded young man in the front cave. Durc was in her arms and Uba on her other side. The man’s mate was there, too, watching him sleep, occasionally glancing up at Ayla with gratitude.
“Ayla, quickly, you must prepare yourself. There is little time,” Mog-ur gestured. “You will have to hurry, but do not overlook a single step. Come to me when you are ready. Uba, give Durc to Oga to feed; Ayla won’t have time.”
They both stared at the magician, stunned by the sudden change in plans. It took a moment to comprehend, then Ayla nodded. She ran quickly to the hearth in the second cave to get a clean wrap. Mog-ur turned to the young woman anxiously watching her sleeping mate.
“The Mog-ur would know how the young man fares.”
“Arrghha says he will live and may walk again. But his leg will never be the same.” The woman spoke with a different dialect and everyday gestures modified so much that Ayla and Uba had had trouble communicating with her except with the formal language. The magician, however, had more practice with the common speech of other clans but used the formal language to make his meaning more precise.
“The Mog-ur would know this man’s totem.”
“Ibex,” she signed.
“This man is as sure-footed as that mountain goat?” he asked.
“It has been said this man is,” she began. “This man was not so agile on this day, and now I don’t know what he’ll do. What if he never walks again? How will he hunt? How will he provide for me? What can a man do if he can’t hunt?” The young woman slipped into the common language of her clan as her taut nerves put her on the edge of hysteria.
“The young man lives. Is that not most important?” The Mog-ur said to calm her.
“But he’s proud. If he can’t hunt, he may wish he hadn’t lived. He was a good hunter, he might have been second to the leader one day. Now he may never gain status, he’ll lose status. What will he do if he loses status?” she pleaded.
“Woman!” The Mog-ur motioned with mock severity. “No man loses status who is the chosen of Ursus. He has already proved his manhood; he was almost chosen to walk with Ursus to the next world. The Spirit of Ursus does not choose lightly. The Great Cave Bear decided to allow him to remain, but he was still marked. This man is honored to claim Ursus as his totem now; his scars will be the marks of his new totem, he can wear them with pride. He will always be able to provide for you. The Mog-ur will speak with your leader; your mate has the right to claim a share of every hunt. And he may walk again, he may even hunt again. Perhaps he