Jean Auel - The Clan of the Cave Bear

He envisioned a pride of cave lions lazily warming themselves in the hot summer sun of the open steppes. There were two cubs. One was leaping playfully in the tall sere grass, poking her nose curiously into the holes of small rodents and growling in mock attack. It was a she-cub; it was she who would grow into a lioness, the primary hunter of the pride; it was she who would bring her kill to her mate. The cub bounded up to a shaggy-maned male and tried to entice him to play. Fearlessly, she reached up with a paw and batted the adult cat’s massive muzzle. It was a gentle touch, almost a caress. The huge lion pushed her down and held her with a heavy paw, then began washing the cub with his long, rough tongue. Cave lions rear their young with affection and discipline, too, he thought, wondering why this scene of feline domestic felicity came to him.

Mog-ur tried to clear his mind of the picture, tried once more to concentrate on the girl, but the scene would not shift.

“Ursus,” he motioned, “a Cave Lion? It can’t be. A female cannot have so powerful a totem. What man could she ever mate with?”

No man in his clan had a Cave Lion totem, not many men in all the clans did. He visualized the tall, skinny child, straight arms and legs, flat face with a large, bulging forehead, pale and washed out; even her eyes were too light. She will be an ugly woman, Mog-ur thought honestly. What man is likely to want her anyway? The thought of his own repulsiveness crossed his mind, and the way women had avoided him, especially when he was younger. Perhaps she will never mate, she would need the protection of a strong totem if she had to live out her life with no man to protect her. But, a Cave Lion? He tried to remember if there had ever been a woman of the Clan with the huge cat for a totem.

She is not really Clan, he reminded himself, and there was no doubt her protection was strong or she wouldn’t be alive. She would have been killed by that cave lion. The thought crystallized in his mind. The cave lion! It attacked her, but it did not kill…or did it attack? Was it testing her? Then another thought burst through and a chill of recognition crept up his spine. All doubt was swept out of his mind. He was sure. Not even Brun can doubt it, he thought. The cave lion had marked her with four parallel grooves in her left thigh, scars she would carry for the rest of her life. At a manhood ceremony, when Mog-ur carved the mark of a young man’s totem on his body, the mark for a Cave Lion was four parallel lines carved into the thigh!

On a male, they are marked on the right thigh; but she is female, and the marks are the same. Of course! Why hadn’t he realized it before? The lion knew it would be difficult for the clan to accept, so he marked her himself, but so clearly, no one could mistake it. And he marked her with Clan totem marks. The Cave Lion wanted the Clan to know. He wants her to live with us. He took her people so she would have to live with us. Why? The magician was jarred by a feeling of uneasiness, the same feeling he had experienced after the ceremony the day she was found. If he’d had a concept for it, he would have called it a sense of foreboding, yet tinged with a strange unnerving hope.

Mog-ur shook it off. Never had a totem come so strongly to him before; that was what unnerved him, he thought. The Cave Lion is her totem. He chose her, just as Ursus chose me. Mog-ur looked into the dark empty eye sockets of the skull in front of him. With profound acceptance, he marveled at the ways of the spirits, once they were understood. It was all so clear now. He was relieved-and overwhelmed. Why should this small girl have need of such powerful protection?

Black-leafed trees waved and fluttered in the twilight breeze, dancing silhouettes against a darkening sky. The camp was quiet, settling down for the night. By the dim glow of hot coals, Iza checked the contents of several small pouches spread out in orderly rows on her cloak, glancing up now and then in the direction she had seen Creb leave. She was concerned about him off by himself in unfamiliar woods without weapons to defend himself. The child was already asleep, and the woman grew more worried as the daylight waned.

Earlier, she had inspected the vegetation growing around the cave, wanting to know the availability of plants to replenish and enlarge her pharmacopoeia. She always carried certain things with her in the otter-skin bag, but to her, the small pouches of dried leaves, flowers, roots, seeds, and barks in her medicine bag were only first aid. In the new cave she would have room for greater quantity and variety. She never went far without her medicine bag, though. It was as much a part of her as her wrap. More. She would have felt naked without her medicines, not without her wrap.

Iza finally saw the old magician hobbling back, and relieved, she jumped up to put the food saved for him on the fire to warm and started water boiling for his favorite herb tea. He shuffled up, then eased himself down by her side as she was putting her small pouches into the larger one.

“How is the child tonight?” he motioned.

“Resting easier. Her pain is nearly gone. She asked for you,” Iza replied.

Creb grunted, inwardly pleased. “Make an amulet for her in the morning, Iza.”

The woman bowed her head in acknowledgment, then she jumped up again to check the food and water. She had to move. She was so happy, she couldn’t sit still. Ayla is going to stay. Creb must have talked to her totem, Iza thought, her heart beating with excitement. The mothers of the two babies had made amulets that day. They were very obvious about it so everyone would know their children would learn their totems at the cave ceremony. It presaged good luck for them and the two women were almost strutting with pride. Was that why Creb was gone so long? It must have been difficult for him. Iza wondered what Ayla’s totem was but repressed an urge to ask. He wouldn’t tell her anyway and she would find out soon enough.

She brought her sibling his food, and tea for both of them. They sat quietly together, a comfortable, affectionate warmth between them. When Creb finished, they were the only ones still awake.

“The hunters will go out in the morning,” Creb said. “If they make a good kill, the ceremony will be the next day. You will be prepared?”

“I checked the bag, there are enough roots. I will be ready,” Iza motioned, holding up a small pouch. It was different from the others. The leather had been dyed a deep brownish red, with fine-powdered red ochre mixed into the bear fat that had been used to cure the cave bear skin it was made from. No other woman had anything colored the sacred red, although everyone in the clan carried a piece of red ochre in their amulets. It was the holiest relic Iza possessed. “I will purify myself in the morning.”

Again Creb grunted. It was the usual noncommittal comment used by men when responding to a woman. It carried only enough meaning to indicate the woman had been understood, without acknowledging too much significance in what she said. They remained quiet for a while, then Creb put his small tea bowl down and looked at his sibling.

“Mog-ur will provide for you and the girl, and your child if it is a girl. You will share my fire in the new cave, Iza,” he said, then reached for his staff to help himself up and hobbled to his sleeping place.

Iza had started to get up but sat back down, thunderstruck by his announcement. It was the last thing she expected. With her mate gone, she knew some other man would have to provide for her. She had tried to put thoughts of her fate out of her mind-it made no difference how she felt, Brun would not consult her-but she couldn’t help thinking about it sometimes. Of the possible options, some didn’t appeal to her and the rest she thought were unlikely.