The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [243]
“Get out!” Ayla jumped at his sharp command, surprised he had spoken so loud. Then she realized he hadn’t spoken at all. She had felt, not heard him. “Get out of the cave! Hurry! Get out now!”
She sprang from her hiding place and ran down the passage. Some of the stone lamps had burned through the moss wicks, other were sputtering and dying. But there were enough to guide her way. No sound emerged from the inner caves where all the men and boys now slept the dreamless sleep. She came to the torches, some of them guttered, too, and finally dashed out of the cave.
It was still dark, but the faint glimmerings of a new day were beginning. Ayla’s mind was clear, no trace of the powerful drug remained, but she was completely spent. She saw the women sprawled out on the ground, purged and drained, and lay down beside Uba. She was still naked, but noticed the morning chill no more than the other naked, sleeping women.
By the time Mog-ur reached the mouth of the cave after following behind her more slowly, she was in a deep, dreamless sleep. He hobbled up to her and looked down at her tousled blonde hair, as distinctly different from the rest of the women’s hair as Ayla was herself, and a great heaviness descended on his soul. He should not have let her go. He should have brought her before the men and had her killed outright, then and there, for her crime. But what good would it do? It would not undo the catastrophe her presence had wrought, it would not cancel the calamity the Clan must bear. What good would it do to kill her? Ayla was only one of her kind, and she was the one he loved.
25
Goov walked out of the cave, blinked at the morning sunlight, rubbed his eyes, and stretched. He noticed Mog-ur sitting hunched over on a log, staring at the ground. So many lamps and torches are out, he thought, someone could make a wrong turn and get lost. I’ll ask Mog-ur if I should refill the lamps and put up new torches. The acolyte strode purposefully toward the magician, but stopped when he saw the old man’s drawn face and the despondent slump of his shoulders. Maybe I won’t bother him, I’ll just go ahead and do it.
Mog-ur is getting old, Goov thought, walking back into the cave with a bladder of bear grease, new wicks, and extra torches. I keep forgetting how old he really is. The trip here was hard on him, and the ceremonies take a lot out of him. And there’s still the journey back. Strange, the young acolyte mused, I never thought of him as old before.
A few more men wandered out of the cave rubbing sleepy eyes and stared at the naked women scattered on the ground, wondering, as they always did, what made them so exhausted. The first women to wake up ran for their wraps, then began to wake the others before too many more men came out of the cave.
“Ayla,” Uba called, shaking the woman, “Ayla, wake up.”
“Mmmmfff,” Ayla mumbled, and rolled over.
“Ayla! Ayla!” Uba said again, shaking her harder. “Ebra, I can’t get her up.”
“Ayla!” the woman said louder, shaking her roughly. Ayla opened her eyes and tried to signal an answer, then closed them again and curled up in a tight ball.
“Ayla! Ayla!” Ebra said again. The young woman opened her eyes once more.
“Go into the cave and sleep it off, Ayla. You can’t stay out here, the men are getting up,” Ebra commanded.
The young woman stumbled toward the cave. A moment later she was back out, wide awake, but drained of color.
“What’s wrong?” Uba motioned. “You’re white. You look like you’ve seen a spirit.”
“Uba. Oh, Uba. The bowl.” Ayla slumped to the ground and buried her face in her hands.
“The bowl? What bowl, Ayla? I don’t understand.”
“It’s broken,” Ayla managed to gesture.
“Broken?” Ebra said. “Why should a broken bowl bother you so much? You can make another.”
“No, I can’t. Not like that one. It’s Iza’s bowl, the one she got from her mother.”
“Mother’s bowl? Mother’s ceremonial bowl?” Uba asked, her face stricken.
The dry, brittle wood of the ancient relic had lost