Ayla crossed the high mountain meadow and drank deeply of the cold water, then stopped to examine the still unripe double and triple clusters of nuts encased in their green, prickly coverings. She picked a clump, peeled away the casing, and cracked the soft shell with her teeth, exposing a shiny white half-grown nut. She always liked unripe hazelnuts better than fully mature ones that had dropped to the ground. The taste aroused her appetite and she began to pick several clusters and put them into her basket. While reaching, she noticed a dark space behind the heavy foliage.
Cautiously, she pushed aside the branches and saw a small cave hidden by the heavy hazelnut shrubs. She forced aside the brush, looked carefully inside, then stepped in, letting the branches swing back. Sunlight dappled one wall with a pattern of light and shadows and dimly lit the interior. The small cave was about twelve feet deep and half as wide. If she reached up, she could almost touch the top of the entrance. The roof sloped down gently for about half the depth, angling more sharply down to the dry dirt floor toward the rear.
It was just a small hole in the mountain wall, but large enough for a girl to move around in comfortably. She saw a cache of rotted nuts and a few squirrel droppings near the entrance and knew the cave had not been used by anything larger. Ayla danced around in a full circle, delighted with her find. The cave seemed to be made just for her.
She went back out and looked across the glade, then climbed a short way up the bare rock and inched out on a narrow ledge that snaked around the outcrop. Far ahead, between the cleft of two hills, was the sparkling water of the inland sea. Below, she could make out a tiny figure near a thin silver ribbon of a stream. She was almost directly above the cave of the clan. Climbing back down, she walked around the perimeter of the clearing.
It’s just perfect, she thought. I can practice in the field, there’s water to drink nearby, and if it rains I can go into the cave. I can hide my sling in there, too. Then I won’t have to be afraid Creb or Iza will find it. There are even hazelnuts, and later I can bring some back for winter. The men almost never climb up this high to hunt. This will be my own place. She ran across the clearing to the creek and began looking for smooth, round pebbles to try out her new sling.
Ayla climbed to her retreat to practice every chance she could. She found a more direct, if steeper, route to her small mountain meadow and often surprised wild sheep, chamois, or shy deer from their grazing. But the animals that frequented the high pasture soon grew accustomed to her and only moved to the opposite end of the grassy clearing when she came.
When hitting the post with a stone lost its challenge as she gained skill with the sling, she set more difficult targets for herself. She watched Zoug give instructions to Vorn, then applied the advice and techniques when she practiced alone. It was a game to her, something fun to do; and to add interest, she compared her progress with Vorn’s. The sling was not his favorite weapon, it smacked of an old man’s device. He was more interested in the spear, the weapon of the primary hunters, and had managed to make a few small kills of slower-moving creatures, snakes and porcupines. He didn’t apply himself the way Ayla did and it was more difficult for him. It gave her a sense of pride and accomplishment when she knew she was better than the boy, and a subtle shift in attitude—a change that was not lost on Broud.
Females were supposed to be docile, subservient, unpretentious, and humble. The domineering young man took it as a personal affront that she didn’t cower a little when he came near. It threatened his masculinity. He watched her, trying to see what was different about her, and was quick to cuff just to see a fleeting look of fear in her eyes or to make her cringe.
Ayla tried to respond properly, did everything he commanded as quickly as she could. She didn’t know there was freedom in her step, an unconscious carry-over from roaming the forests and fields; pride in her bearing, from learning a difficult skill and doing it better than someone else; and a growing self-confidence in her mien. She didn’t know why he picked on her more than anyone else. Broud didn’t know himself why she annoyed him so much. It was indefinable, and she could no more have changed it than she could change the color of her eyes.
Part of it was his memory of the attention she had usurped from him at his manhood rites, but the real problem was she was not Clan. She had not had subservience bred into her for untold generations. She was one of the Others; a newer, younger breed, more vital, more dynamic, not controlled by hidebound traditions from a brain that was nearly all memory. Her brain followed different paths, her full, high forehead that housed forward-thinking frontal lobes gave her an understanding from a different view. She could accept the new, shape it to her will, forge it into ideas undreamed of by the Clan, and, in nature’s way, her kind was destined to supplant the ancient, dying race.
At a deep, unconscious level, Broud sensed the opposing destinies of the two. Ayla was more than a threat to his masculinity, she was a threat to his existence. His hatred of her was the hatred of the old for the new, of the traditional for the innovative, of the dying for the living. Broud’s race was too static, too unchanging. They had reached the peak of their development; there was no more room to grow. Ayla was part of nature’s new experiment, and though she tried to model herself after the women of the clan, it was only an overlay, a façade only culture-deep, assumed for the sake of survival. She was already finding ways around it, in answer to a deep need that sought an avenue of expression. And though she tried in every way she could to please the overbearing young man, inwardly she began to rebel.
One particularly trying morning, Ayla went to the pool for a drink. The men were gathered together at the opposite side of the cave opening planning their next hunt. She was glad, for it meant Broud would be gone for a while. She was sitting with a cup in her hands beside the still water, lost in thought. Why is he always so mean to me? Why does he always pick on me? I work as hard as anyone else. I do everything he wants. What good does it do to try so hard? None of the other men keep after me the way he does. I just wish he’d leave me alone.
“Ouch!” she cried involuntarily as Broud’s hard blow caught her by surprise.
Everyone stopped and looked at her, then quickly looked away. A girl so close to womanhood didn’t cry out like that just because a man cuffed her. She turned toward her tormentor, her face red with embarrassment.
“You were just staring at nothing, sitting there doing nothing, lazy girl!” Broud gesticulated. “I told you to bring us some tea and you ignored me. Why should I have to tell you more than once?”
A rising surge of anger flushed her cheeks even more. She felt humiliated by her outcry, shamed in front of the whole clan, and furious at Broud for causing it. She got up, but not with the usual quick jump to obey his command. Slowly, insolently, she got to her feet, shot Broud a look of cold hatred before she moved away to get the tea, and heard a gasp from the watching clan. How did she dare to behave with such brazenness?
Broud exploded in a rage. He sprang after her, spun her around, and plowed his fist into her face. It knocked her to the ground at his feet and he followed with another smashing blow. She cowered, trying to protect herself with her arms as he pounded her again and again. She fought to voice no sound, though silence was not expected under such abuse. Broud’s fury mounted with his violence; he wanted to hear her cry out and rained down one crashing blow after another in his uncontrolled rage. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself to the pain, stubbornly refusing to give him the satisfaction he wanted. After a time, she was beyond crying out.
Dimly, through a red foggy haze, she realized the beating had stopped. She felt Iza help her up and leaned heavily on the woman as she stumbled into the cave, nearly unconscious. Surges of pain washed over her as she wavered in and out of numbed insensibility. She was only vaguely aware of cool, soothing poultices and Iza supporting her head so that she could drink a bitter-tasting brew before she slipped into a drugged sleep.
When she awoke, the faint light of predawn barely outlined th
e familiar objects within the cave, feebly assisted by the dull glow of dying coals in the fireplace. She tried to rise. Every muscle and bone in her body rebelled at the movement. A moan escaped her lips, and a moment later Iza was beside her. The woman’s eyes spoke eloquently; they were filled with pain and concern for the girl. Never had she seen anyone beaten so brutally. Not even her mate at his worst had ever beaten Iza so hard. She was sure Broud would have killed her if he hadn’t been forced to stop. It was a scene Iza never thought she would see and never wanted to see again.
As her memory of the incident returned, Ayla was filled with fear and hatred. She knew she should not have been so insolent, but she had no reason to expect such a violent reaction. Why was it that she drove him to such raging outbursts?
Brun was angry, the quiet cold anger that made the whole clan walk softly and avoid him as much as possible. He had disapproved of Ayla’s impudence, but Broud’s reaction shocked him. He was right to punish the girl, but Broud had overdone the punishment by far. He didn’t even respond to the leader’s command to stop; Brun had to drag him away. Worse, his loss of control was over a female. He had allowed a girl to prod him into the emasculating display of uncontrolled rage.
After Broud’s fit of temper at the practice field, Brun had been sure the young man would never allow himself to lose control again, but now he had just thrown a tantrum that was worse than childish, worse because Broud had the powerful body of a grown man. For the first time, Brun began to seriously doubt the wisdom of Broud becoming the next leader, and it hurt the stoic man more than he cared to admit. Broud was more than the child of his mate, more than the son of his heart. Brun was sure it was his own spirit that had created him and he loved him more than life itself. He felt the young man’s failure with a stab of guilt. The fault must be his. Somewhere he had failed, he had not raised him properly, trained him properly, had shown him too much favor.
Brun waited several days before talking to Broud. He wanted to give himself time to think everything through carefully. Broud spent the time in a state of nervous agitation, hardly leaving his hearth, and it was almost a relief when Brun finally signaled him, though his heart beat with trepidation as he followed behind Brun. There was nothing in the world he feared so much as Brun’s anger, but it was Brun’s very lack of anger that brought his message home.
In simple gestures and quiet tones, Brun told Broud exactly what he had been thinking. He took the blame for Broud’s failures, and the young man felt more shame than he ever had in his life. He was made to understand Brun’s love, and his anguish, in a way he had not known before. Here was not the proud leader Broud had always respected and feared, here was a man who loved him and was deeply disappointed in him. Broud was filled with remorse.
Then Broud saw a hard look of resolution in Brun’s eyes. It nearly broke Brun’s heart, but the interests of the clan must come first.
“One more outburst, Broud. Just one more hint of such a display, and you are no longer the son of my mate. It is your place to follow me as leader, but before I will entrust the clan to a man with no self-control, I will disown you and have you cursed with death.” No emotion showed on the leader’s face as he continued. “Until I see some sign that you are a man, there is no hope that you are capable of leadership. I will be watching you, but I will be watching the other hunters, too. I will have to see more than just no outward displays of temper, I will have to know you are a man, Broud. If I have to choose someone else as leader, your status will be set at the lowest rank, permanently. Have I made myself clear?”
Broud couldn’t believe it. Disowned? Death cursed? Someone else chosen as leader? Always the lowest-ranked male? He can’t mean it. But Brun’s set jaw and hard look of determination left no doubt.
“Yes, Brun,” Broud nodded. His face was ashen.
“We will say nothing of this to the others. Such a change will be difficult for them to accept and I don’t want to cause unnecessary concern. But have no doubt I will do as I say. A leader must always put the clan’s interests before his own; it is the first thing you must learn. That is why self-control is so essential to a leader. The clan’s survival is his responsibility. A leader has less freedom than a woman, Broud. He must do many things he may not want to. If necessary, he must even disown the son of his mate. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Brun,” Broud replied. He wasn’t really sure that he did. How could a leader have less freedom than a woman? A leader could do anything, command everyone, women and men alike.
“Go now, Broud. I want to be alone.”
It was several days before Ayla was able to get up, and much longer before the purplish discolorations that covered her body turned to a sickly yellow and finally faded away. At first, she was so apprehensive that she was afraid to go near Broud, and jumped at the sight of him. But as the last ache left her, she began to notice the change in him. He no longer picked on her, no longer badgered her, positively avoided her. Once she forgot the pain, she began to feel the beating was almost worth it. Ever since then, she realized, Broud had let her entirely alone.
Life was easier for Ayla without his constant harassment. She hadn’t realized the pressure she was under until it stopped. She felt free by comparison, though her life was still as limited as the rest of the women’s. She walked with enthusiasm, sometimes breaking into an excited run or happy skip, held her head high, swung her arms freely, even laughed out loud. Her feeling of freedom translated itself into her movements. Iza knew she was happy, but her actions were uncommon and brought disapproving looks. She was just too exuberant; it wasn’t proper.
Broud’s avoidance of her was obvious to the clan, too, and the subject of speculation and wonder. From casual notice of gestured conversations, Ayla began to piece together a notion that Brun had threatened Broud with dire consequences if he hit her again, and she became convinced when the young man ignored her even when she provoked him. She was just a little careless at first, allowing her natural inclinations a freer rein, but then she began a purposeful campaign of subtle insolence. Not the brazen disrespect that had caused the beating, but small things, petty tricks calculated to annoy him. She hated him, wanted to get back at him, and felt protected by Brun.
It was a small clan, and as much as he tried to avoid her, in the course of the clan’s normal interactions, there were occasions when Broud had to tell her what to do. She made a point of being slower to respond to him. If she thought no one was watching, she’d raise her eyes and stare at him with the peculiar grimace of which only she was capable while she watched him struggle for control. She was careful when others were around, especially Brun. She had no desire to feel the leader’s wrath, but she became scornful of Broud’s anger and pitted her will against his more openly as the summer progressed.
Only when she accidentally happened to catch a glance of venomous hatred did she wonder at the wisdom of her actions. His look of hostility was so malevolently intense, it came almost as a physical blow. Broud blamed her entirely for his untenable position. If she had not been so insolent, he would not have gotten so angry. If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have a death curse hanging over his head. Her happy exuberance irritated him no matter how he tried to control it. It was patently obvious her behavior was shockingly indecent. Why couldn’t the other men see it? Why did they let her get away with it? He hated her more deeply than before, but he was careful not to show it when Brun was around.
The battle between them had gone below the surface, but it was played out with fiercer intensity, and the girl was not as subtle as she thought. The whole clan was aware of the tension between them and wondered why Brun allowed it. The men, taking their cue from the leader, refrained from interference and even permitted the girl more freedom than they normally would have, but it made the clan uncomfortable, men and women both.
Brun disapproved of Ayla’s behavior; he hadn’t missed any of what she thought were subtle ploys, nor did he like seeing Broud let her get away with it.
Insolence and rebellion were unacceptable from anyone, especially females. It shocked him to see the girl pitting her will against a male. No woman of the Clan would consider it. They were content with their place; their position was not a veneer of culture, it was their natural state. They understood with a deep instinct their importance to the existence of the Clan. The men could no more learn their skills than the women could learn to hunt; they hadn’t the memories for it. Why should a woman struggle and fight to change a natural state—would she struggle to stop eating, to stop breathing? If Brun hadn’t been absolutely certain she was female, he would have thought from her actions she was male. Yet she had learned the women’s skills and was even showing an aptitude for Iza’s magic.
As much as it disturbed him, Brun refrained from interfering because he could see Broud struggling for self-control. Ayla’s defiance was helping Broud master his temper, a mastery so essential to a future leader. For all that he had seriously considered finding a new successor, Brun was sympathetic where the son of his mate was concerned. Broud was a fearless hunter, and Brun was proud of his bravery. If he could learn to control his one obvious fault, Brun thought Broud would make a good leader.
Ayla was not fully aware of the tensions surrounding her. She was happier that summer than she could ever remember. She took advantage of her increased freedom to wander by herself more, collecting herbs and practicing with her sling. She didn’t shirk any chores that were required of her—she wasn’t allowed to—but one of her tasks was to bring Iza the plants she needed and it gave her an excuse to be away from the hearth. Iza never did regain her full strength, though her cough subsided with the warmth of summer. Both Creb and Iza worried about Ayla. Iza was sure things could not go on the way they were and decided to go out with the girl on a foraging trip and use the opportunity to talk to her.