The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [270]
Perhaps the Clan was doomed before Ayla saw the sacred ceremony, and she was led there only to show me. We will be no more, but as long as there are Durcs and Uras, we will not die. I wonder if Durc has the memories? If only he were older, old enough for a ceremony. It doesn’t matter; Durc has more than the memories, he has the Clan. Ayla, my child, the child of my heart, you do carry luck and you brought it to us. Now I know why you came—not to bring us our death, but to give us our one chance for life. It will never be the same, but it is something.
Ayla brought her son a piece of cold meat. Creb seemed lost in thought but looked at her when she sat down.
“You know, Creb,” she said thoughtfully. “Sometimes I think Durc isn’t just my son. Ever since I lost my milk, and he got used to going from hearth to hearth to nurse, he eats at every hearth. Everyone feeds him. He reminds me of a cave bear cub, it’s like he’s the son of the whole clan.”
Ayla felt a great outpouring of sadness from Creb’s one dark, liquid eye. “Durc is the son of the whole clan, Ayla. He’s the only son of the Clan.”
The first light of predawn glowed through the opening of the cave, filling in the triangular space. Ayla lay awake looking at her son sleeping beside her in the glowing light. She could see Creb in his bed beneath his fur and from his regular breathing knew he was asleep, too. I’m glad Creb and I finally talked, she thought, feeling as though a terrible load had been lifted from her shoulders, but the queasiness in the pit of her stomach that she had been feeling the whole day and night grew worse. She had a dry lump in her throat and thought if she stayed in the cave another instant, she’d suffocate. She slipped quietly out of bed, quickly threw on a wrap and some foot coverings, and moved silently toward the entrance.
She took a deep breath as soon as she stepped beyond the cave’s mouth. Her relief was so great, she didn’t care that icy rain soaked through her leather wrap. She slogged through the mucky quagmire in front of the cave toward the stream, shivering from a sudden chill. Patches of snow, blackened by soot sifting out from the many fires, sent muddy runnels of water down the slope adding their small measure to the drenching downpour that swelled the ice-locked channel.
Her leather foot coverings gave small purchase on the reddish brown ooze, and she slipped and fell halfway down to the stream. Her limp hair, plastered against her head, hung in thick ropes extending into rivulets that cut through the mud clinging to her wrap before the rain washed it away. She stood for a long time on the bank of the watercourse struggling to break free of its frozen keep, and watched the dark water swirl around chunks of ice, finally break them loose, and send them careening to some unseen destination.
Her teeth were chattering when she struggled back up the slippery slope, watching the overcast sky grow imperceptibly lighter beyond the ridge to the east. She had to force herself through an invisible barrier that blocked the mouth of the cave, and felt the sense of uneasiness again the moment she entered.
“Ayla, you’re soaked. Why did you go outside in this rain?” Creb gestured. He picked up a piece of wood and put it on the fire. “Get out of that wet wrap and come here by the fire. You’ll catch