Chapter 10

The fire burst into life on the burial pit. It was a great and wide pit, the most elaborate the Clan had ever dug and filled with all sorts of treasures the traveler would need on the journey. It could be likened to the royal tombs of later times, where a member of the sacred ruling family was laid to their eternal rest. For indeed, Broud's name and family would be highly honored for as long as the Clan continued.

"Come on, Brac, Grev, Vorn! Oga, Asha!" Kyani held her hands on her hips as she rushed the children-and the new little man-along. They hurried towards the fire, carrying the dishes and cups used for the funeral feast. Once the hearth was cleared, Kyani gazed for one sad moment on the empty place where the soft furs used to lie. And then she turned and hurried to another fur, and knelt down to offer her hand.

"You can't lift me up!" Broud complained gruffly, waving her off. "Look at you, no bigger than a child and always trying to pull me off the ground." He pushed himself slowly, cringing and groaning at the pain in his belly. Uba said it would take many moons until the pain was fully gone, and the scars would remain forever. Broud didn't care about the scars; he rather liked them, and he enjoyed showing them off to his boys. He had been lucky. In his haste, Drakav had rammed his blade into one of the few places in the belly where both organs and large veins would be left unbroken. It had been the infection that had really frightened Uba, but somehow the powerful leader had battled his way through the darkness and the fire of his fever. Uba, who did not to presume to know about spirits, of course, privately believed that Ursus and Woolly Rhinoceros had guided Broud back to the world. Now as the snow melted and the first crocuses pushed up from the cold earth, Broud was finally walking, cranky and miserable that he couldn't hunt just when the earth around him was bursting forth with greening grasses, and the herds were returning. But though he groaned and griped there was a smile in his eyes, and he tucked Kyani's fragile little hand into the crook of his thick strong arm.

"I will miss Ebra," Kyani said sadly, gazing on as the fire rose while the other women rushed about, preparing the meal. After the attack, Ebra had been overwhelmed, helping to tend to the injured. Her health had had been poor all winter, though she never complained. The strain of the attack and Broud's injury was too much for the old woman, and her heart had given out in her sleep not long after Broud came out of his fever. But Ebra had died happy, knowing her son to have saved their people, sure that his name would live on in the legends as long as tales were told.

"My mother was a good woman," Broud agreed. "She walks with Ursus now."

Kyani nodded, closing her eyes and leaning her head against Broud's arm, just for a quick moment. How close she had come to losing him. How warm he was now, how strong and sweet was the faint scent of him, like earth and smoke and pine. Ebra and Aga had to hold Kyani down so that Uba could tend to the wound on her neck, as the young woman had struggled and screamed to be near Broud. She would bear the scar of Drakav's knife forever, as would Broud. Grod had some nasty cuts and Goov had been knocked unconscious, and had lingered a frightening time in the world of the spirits. But they had survived, all but the hunter Tag who had suffered under Drugan's cruel knife. Kirn had taken news of Broud's great victory along with Tag's amulet when he had left for Varn's cave, and soon the word would spread, that the Clan need not suffer the aggression of others ever again. Broud would be hailed as a hero; but Kyani was simply glad he lived on, to grouch and complain about being cave-bound in his convalescence.

She knew now, of course, that her father was dead. Kieran had told her, and she had told Kieran that it would have been impossible for the Clan to burn the camp. Ilona's lie was agony for Kieran, and he immediately set out to find his daughter, as Ilona had fled with the baby the moment she saw Droog and Kirn charging down the mountain. Kieran swore Ilona would not raise the child, she didn't deserve to. And as proof of this, the baby was found wandering alone in the forest, abandoned. The Clan had grudgingly given Kieran provisions and sent him on his way. They thought he would seek Ilona, but when the first hunting party of the early spring returned, they bore grim news along with their kill. A woman's remains were near the rushing stream, picked nearly clean but for some clothes and a woven belt that Kyani identified as Ilona's. Bits of fur from hyenas had been found clinging to the rough bark of a nearby tree, and marks from their powerful jaws were found on the bones. For all Ilona had done, Kyani had shuddered to hear of her end. Being eaten alive by the nasty predators, who always hunted and feasted in packs, would be a brutal, terrifying death. No less than the ugly hag deserved, Broud had opined from his sick bed, and there was no more talk of it.

After an appropriate period of mourning for Ebra, there was a great celebration. Brac was permitted to re-enact his kill, and the eloquent emotion he revealed touched all hearts. He had his father's gift of story-telling but the fear he had wrestled with had made him a far more humble young man than Broud ever was or ever could be. Afterwards, early vegetables and herb roasted meat were served, along with gathered and elaborately prepared eggs, and special tea made from fresh green leaves to celebrate the season. And then, Brac and Asha had been mated, and the shy young man took his lovely, adoring mate to a hearth at the back of the cave, where Brac proudly assumed the place of the lowest ranking hunter in Broud's Clan. Brac would still be anxious on his hunts, but after all, as Broud told him (rather jealously and anxious himself, as he was unable to hunt with or watch over his boy), killing a four-legged beast is nothing to killing a two-legged one. But Brac, like Brun, would favor the bola and other means of long-distance trapping or killing for the rest of his life.

The Clan settled into their easy, seasonal rhythm again. When the weather warmed fully Broud felt strong enough to take them down to the sea coast, and they stood in the river where Ona quite nearly lost her life years before. Growing ripe with Goov's child, the young woman gratefully sat on the shore near Zoug, flattered by the old man's attention as he told her tales of her mother as a baby, and of Brun and Creb and even Ayla. Ona cast her eyes down for a long time then, until Zoug, a perceptive man, prompted her to speak.

"I remember it," Ona told him, looking warily at Broud as she spoke. Broud was having a wonderful time in the refreshing water, finally able to participate in something physical, standing beside Kyani who laughed aloud as they thrashed the fish towards the Clan's woven nets. "I remember when she saved me. It was right there," Ona told him, gesturing out to the place where Brac stood by Durc, letting the boy feel the thrill of helping to catch fish while guarding him like an older brother should. "The water pulled me down, and I gulped at it, and then I tried so hard to fight the current but soon everyone was getting smaller. I just went down. And there she was, swimming like a sturgeon. She had no fear at all, Zoug."

"Yes, she was a strange woman," Zoug commented. He had his own private memories of the girl, involving gleaming eyes the color of the sky and sweet, sweet raspberries. If he had been a younger man, he would have taken the girl for his mate.

"Yes," Ona repeated obediently, but then she said, "It's only… Only that I wonder if she is not dead."

Zoug sucked his breath warily, his eyes on Broud now, too, and Goov as well. "The leader ordered it done and the mog-ur and the spirits did it," Zoug reminded her sternly.

"I know," Ona said softly. She was quite naturally a docile girl, like most Clan women. An onlooker might think that she feigned it, for so sweet was her nature, so gentle and feminine, that neither Zoug nor any other Clan man could see Ona as defiant, even as she kept on at a subject that a man had expressed disinterest in. "It's just that… Well, we share a piece of our spirits, Zoug, and I think I would feel something if she was dead. But nothing ever changed, not when she died, nor when she walked away as a spirit, nor that day to this."

"Hush, Ona," Zoug said firmly. He would never admit to thinking about Ayla as often as he did. He thought of the two girls of the Others that had driven Broud so mad, first with fury and then with adoration. Broud spoke strangely about some Mother spirit sometimes, only before his ceremonial tea fully kicked in and brought him back to his origins. He thought that Kyani was her perfect daughter, sweet and soft, as yielding as good earth where the flowers and fruit trees grew. But Zoug thought that if all of this was true, and some earth mother was the spirit of Kyani and Ayla's people, then surely Ayla was like Her as well, if another aspect. The earth was not always sweet, sometimes it killed. Sometimes it healed. Ayla did both. Zoug missed her, even some two and a half years later.

The summer went on, and Broud grew strong again. He screamed with joy to hunt again, as the incredible rush swept him on, running with his brothers to chase down big game. In the fall Varn's men returned, in gratitude. Another group of invaders had menaced some of their women and tried to steal their meat on a hunting trip, and Varn had given them battle instead. No Clans had been menaced since, as reported by the strong legged messengers who sometimes ran between Clans with intermarriages and other ties. Now they offered to go mammoth hunting with Broud, who could not resist. They knew he could not effect a good mammoth hunt with so few active men. But Brac came along happily, and got to thrust a spear into a young strong cow several times his height at the shoulder. And Ona had a boy, who Kyani immediately snapped up for Suki, Aga's daughter. Kyani already knew who her own daughter would mate: Vorn, Uba's son, Oga's second cousin and a fellow bearer of the sacred blood that made medicine women, mog-urs, and leaders. Kyani saw a dynasty, and Broud shrugged his shoulders and decided that unless some important need or some man's desire overrode his mate's schemes, looking at babies and choosing future mates felt like appropriate women's work to him. Kyani would never know how big of a change this was, or how much of a compliment and an anomaly it was, considering that Clan women had never before had such stake in planning the future.

Already she had changed Broud, and changed them all. On quiet summer nights and endless winter days, Clan women fussed and cut and beaded their wraps, and then their hair, and then they gilded their wrists and ankles as Kyani did. Iza would not have recognized her daughter in her fancy dress (Broud gave her plenty fine furs as well), and her brown hair full of little braids and musically clinking beads. The men liked it, and so it stayed. Broud did love his second mate, who was very lovely and in the end, quite a skilled medicine woman. He thought with pleasure about the next Clan Gathering, how fine he would seem with such lovely women attending on him, and such strong, talented children at his hearth. Of course Kyani was his heart, and she knew it, and she was not resentful when he appreciated Uba and gave her pretty things. Kyani would not want for Uba to be lonely and unappreciated. But even more than that, though, even though Kyani was not a selfish girl, she was human: she knew that Broud was utterly hers, and so she never worried that he could love another more. Yet still, Uba did not turn up pregnant, and as the year waned Uba began to look more at Oga. Kyani took the chance to tell Uba that her aunt was a medicine woman, and Uba's expression told Kyani that Uba was thinking in the same vein.

"But Oga is not of my mother's line," Uba lamented.

Kyani made a small, rare smile. Broud had told her never to discuss her knowledge with anyone else. It was too revolutionary for the Clan, and thus it was in his domain as leader to decide when and if to tell that men had a physical part in making babies. "Perhaps she has the memories though, all the same," was what Kyani said.

Uba thought for a long while. "Oh, well," she said, "I must replenish my herbs before the frost. Perhaps I will take the girl with me, if you'd allow it."

Kyani nodded too eagerly. "Anytime you like, Uba. Anytime."

Two years later, Oga was well on her way to being an acolyte. She helped Uba sort her less dangerous herbs, and she did, in fact, have the memories. Kyani was stunned at how her child could see a new plant on walks, and though she could not give a name, the little girl knew that it was not harmful but beneficial in nature, and worth picking.

"That is a potent gift," Kyani told Broud at night. "Incredible."

Broud, who enjoyed smiling at her now, made a smug little grin. "You want more of my babies, then?"

Kyani flushed, laying her hands on his powerful chest. "Broud… It is difficult for me."

"No," he objected, kissing her face softly. "It was just that first time, I promise. I know. You are mine now, completely mine. You are Clan, all the way."

And in fact, this was true. In the late autumn, the very year Oga had been weaned, Kyani went into labor again. She had expected it to be deadly hard and painful, and she had walked, with at least one of the other men as a guard, up and down the mountain every day to condition her body. What she did not know was that since her body had endured Oga's birth, little Ebra's would be much easier. Though her body still employed a great deal of strength to turn a baby that wouldn't budge, Ebra came with much less struggle and Kyani did not feel as though her hips were breaking. Sweaty and breathless, she held her second daughter moments after birth, and Broud held them both, and in just days Kyani was up again. Broud looked on his mate and their two little girls and knew the truth of his vision, and the peace of the blessings of Ursus.

He was a much different man than when he had set out to kill the Others. He was, now, truly, a full man. He could be rash and intemperate at times still, but he was a good leader. He even thought that Brun might be proud of him, and though the old leader was long dead, Broud felt the desire for Brun's approval as strongly as he ever had. But these days, Broud was doing right. He felt himself complete. The Clan grew and waned with the seasons, and Broud hunted and told his stories and loved his mates and his children with his full heart. He was, finally, at peace.

Epilogue

The old leader wrapped his furs a little tighter around his strong body. Though it was summer he couldn't shake the chill that had plagued him for days, nor the ache in his bones and his old battle scar. Sometimes the pain of his arthritis was so great that he didn't want to hunt, but he refused to tell his mates even though one was a medicine woman. The leader had known much success in the hunt and in battle, but these final enemies, time and age, not even he could defeat.

But as he sat musing on his life, Broud thought he had much to be grateful for. He had many children and six grandchildren, and two fine mates who, in their late twenties now, were still adoring and utterly lovely in two very different ways. His name had become a legend among the Clan, firmly planted into the memories and hearts of his people, and it was only through his mastering of war that he had brought the peace of mutual respect and wariness between the Clan and the Others. The fears that had once plagued his nightmares were conquered, and Broud knew once and for all that Ursus had blessed him greatly. And he had his health-somewhat-and enough muscle and stamina to hunt when he wanted to. Though silver had finally started to creep into his red-brown hair, Broud had no cause to be dissatisfied with any part of his life.

Broud pushed himself up and strolled to the mouth of his cave. Before him was the next generation of the Clan, and it pleased him to watch them in the various roles he and Kyani had guided them into.

Durc, Goov's impressive acolyte and a hunter of high repute, sat on the ground with his feet firmly planted in the center of his latest creation, a thick band of wood and treated ibex horn pasted together in layers. As Groob the toolmaker watched the way an anxious father hovers over a child taking his first steps, Durc pulled the two ends hard together and strained to slip a taunt sinew into the groove on one end of the bow.

Asha approached Groob's young mate Ebra, her hands on her hips. "What are they making?" she wondered, shifting her two year old son to her hip.

"Groob won't say a word to me, of course," Ebra pouted, her dark eyes sparkling. "But I think I have some idea. I see him huddling over his babies around the hearth, sharpening them and wrapping them if soft hides! They've made a whole bunch of skinny little spears, and I think they mean to throw the spears with that… that creation Durc's tugging on. It was Durc's idea, you know, not that Groob would ever admit it."

"He'll be a good mog-ur," Asha decided. "He's got such vision! Most men would never do anything that the memories don't speak of. But Durc is always designing strange new things, sketching them out in charcoal on that plank of wood he carries with him. Surely he will hear new things from the spirits, things that will help us all."

"He adheres to tradition, too, Asha," Ebra observed. "He respects nothing more than the Clan, the spirits, and the memories. But remember, the stories say that Broud saved the Clan by trying new things to fight the Others, and Durc was raised by Broud. Maybe that's where he gets it from."

Durc suddenly looked up, the way someone might when feeling some familiar warmth in the wind. His hair, glinting with gold, blew back in the gentle spring breeze. Durc narrowed his eyes curiously, letting the string go loose and the bow revert to its original form. For a long moment the great hunter-priest sat still, listening to the spirits in the wind.

"I don't know, I just don't know."

The woman froze in the swaying grasses. The majestic rising peaks, the calls of the birds, even the smell of the grass raised a lump of fear in her throat, an old fear she had thought long dead.

Her mate took her hand, raised it to his lips, and cradled it softly. "You said you had to do this. You said you couldn't go another day without knowing. And we've come all this way…"

The woman shook her head, the insecurities crowding together in her mind and vying for a place on her tongue. "What if they don't want us here? What if they attack us? You know there are stories now, that the Clan has ways of dealing with unwanted guests! What if we are not welcome? And what if… What if he's no longer with them?"

The man smiled, hugging the woman and speaking in his soft, intimate voice. "Come now, beloved, where is the brave woman I tied the knot with? The woman who raises wolves and hunts better than most men I know? You cannot be afraid now!"

"Jondalar-" she said quietly, the tears rising in her eyes.

"Ayla, if they don't want us here, we will leave. But at least we'll have tried. At least you can be at peace, finally, after all this time. Besides, remember: there is peace now, and even a little trade between the more sensible of our peoples."

"Jondalar, what if Broud is still their leader?"

"If we are not welcome, we will leave," Jondalar repeated steadily. What he didn't say was that he had no intention of letting anything happen to his mate, the love of his life. But nearly twenty years had passed since Broud had cursed Ayla. Who could nurse a grudge for so long? Besides, it wasn't likely this Broud man was even alive still, let alone the leader. "Come on, Ayla. Let's try to find Durc."

A high series of whistles rang through the valley and up to the mountaintop. Vorn called back and jogged steadily to Broud. "Visitors coming. Two, a man and a woman. Others, armed but at ease, and making no effort to hide."

Broud grunted, and looked over to Brac. It was coming near to the time that Brac would have to assume leadership, though Broud held onto his place the way a starving wolf clutches a hank of flesh. But Brac was in a deep conversation with Goov, and Broud thought a hike down the mountain might do him some good. "Vorn, fetch Durc. The two of you can come with me to see what these visitors want from us."

Broud was not terribly concerned. There were traders now, and Kyani insisted that these traders would want the mother-of-pearl from inside the special mollusk shells at the shore. She had a head for these things, his little mate, and it amused him now in his powerful maturity to let Kyani have her schemes and peculiar fancies. She still delighted him. He threw a quick look at her, and she swept out a finely woven basket with a thin pattern of black bands around the bottom, signifying Clan goods. "I want jet," she murmured, a black stone she had grown fond of, a stone that matched the sheen of her pretty hair.

"I hope your shells are very fine, then," Broud taunted, his eyes all fire. He would grin, if it was his way. If Kyani and the women wanted to trade muscle shells, they could collect them, then. Unless the day was very pleasant for men to visit the shore, that is. Broud set the basket to the side of his hearth, in case these two Others were traders carrying desirable goods.

Broud strolled down the hill. His son and the mate of his daughter jogged a little behind him, enjoying the warmth and freshness of the day. He gazed out over his valley with the pleasure of a king surveying his peaceful realm. And then he was struck by a vision. Broud stumbled and fell back more than fifteen years into the past.

The grass swayed the same way. The stream gurgled and rushed over her reflection. It was spring again, the spring of Broud's youth, and everything was wild and new. But she was not alone with a brace of ptarmigans. She stood tall beside a man who looked much like her, with very bright gold and silver hair, and her eyes were shining with tears under a cool autumn sun.

Vorn turned to Broud curious to find the older man shaken by the sight of the tall woman. Durc stared for a while, and then he put his head down and spoke to Broud with the private title that all of Broud's sons used. He hardly dared to breathe. "Father? Is this real?"

Broud wasn't entirely sure. The shock of seeing her was so strong it might have thrown him completely on his back if he didn't stand his ground. But yet, some part of him had always known that she was alive. He took in her straight, honest gaze, her fine clothes, the proud carriage that came from her high status. He thought she looked powerful, and quite calm. He would never have guessed what it was for her to stand there, facing him at last. Broud looked at Durc. "Go on then," he said quietly, resting his hand on the young man's back for a moment. "See your mother." He gave Ayla a tiny, half-hearted little nod, and turned to begin his climb up the forested path.

He did not want to know what went on between them, Broud's son and the mother Broud had stolen away from him. He didn't think it was his place. Kyani saw the shock on his face when he sat down at the hearth. Broud immediately turned to Uba. "Go down the hill. There's someone you want to see. Don't make a big noise about it, though."

And then Broud thought, most of the old people are dead anyway. None of his young hunters, his sons and their cousins, knew too much about Ayla. He thought it would not cause much of a disturbance to set out some meat, at least. He told Kyani to prepare what food they had, and she stood with her hands on her hips a long while after he left her to it, wondering what her mate was about. And then Broud ordered all the food sent to Ura, who was also told to lay out fine furs and carved bone and ivory cups at her hearth. And, strangest of all, Broud retreated to his own secluded hearth and sat down before the fire, as if he would rest.

Kyani was stunned when Durc brought the woman into the cave, and to his hearth. She knew right away that it was Ayla; it could be no one else, the way Durc's eyes shone with love and a joy he never expected to feel in this life. Kyani fetched some chamomile tea and sat before Broud, offering it to him and waiting for permission to speak.

"It's her, all right," Broud said before giving Kyani permission, because he knew what she would say. Kyani slipped beside him as he said, "It's her spirit, come to haunt me."

"I don't think she's here for you at all, Broud," Kyani said simply. The blonde woman wept now, embracing her son. Durc's high status was apparent to Ayla, by the size of his hearth and the fine goods stored there. Durc had just told her that he was Goov's acolyte, but a few seasons away from being a great mog-ur. Ayla had expected her boy to be death cursed, driven off at the worst, or at best a low ranking hunter. She could not believe he was a highly respected hunter and acolyte, mated to Ura, and with a fine son and daughter of his own, a daughter with blue eyes.

Broud grunted softly at the truth of Kyani's words. Soon, though they had their own hearths, Broud's daughters came hurrying over, Oga clutching her daughter in a gorgeous shell adorned carrying wrap. "Who is that woman at Durc's hearth?" Oga asked, shocked to see her sensible older brother Durc in such an emotional state.

"His mother," Broud admitted, pushing himself up again, his knees creaking.

"Durc's mother! We want to meet her!" Ebra cried giddily. She was the youngest girl at Broud's hearth, and he spoiled her more than a good Clan man should. Even the youngest, Broud and Kyani's son Varin, joined his curious sisters.

Kyani scolded her children, but there was no help for it. Ayla's presence had caused too much excitement, even among those who had never known her name. The sight of Durc, Ayla, and Uba sharing such happiness was enough to stoke the interest of the young Clan.

Broud gave another noncommittal grunt. He was irritated that Ayla had returned, like the incorrigible spirit she was, to spoil the peace of his autumn years. And then he chastised himself; he had banished the woman for trying to protect Creb, a poor reason, a wicked reason. His intention had been for her to die in truth. He had stripped Durc of his mother and the Clan of a beloved and skilled medicine woman, and no good had come of it. Had he the decision to make again, he would never have sent her away. It was not out of anger or dislike that he picked up a bola and a spear, and waved Groob over to join him for a little hunting. It was shame that kept him from joining his family as they welcomed back the long lost woman. Even Brac had gone to see Ayla, to show her what a strong hunter he had become, a thing that never would have happened had she not saved his life many years before.

Goov met him at the mouth of the cave, slightly flustered. "I'm not sure… Well, we cursed her Broud… I don't know how safe this is."

"There's nothing for it, Goov," Broud said gruffly. "She just won't stay dead. Maybe it was wrong to do, and that is why Ursus did not take her to the next world. Or maybe Durc brought her back, saved her life, you know. When he was a baby, and he entered the sacred chamber. I just don't know, Goov. But my head aches. Work your protective magic, if you feel better doing it, but I don't think we need it in this case."

"So you welcome her, and her companion."

Broud sighed heavily. He waved to Groob, and the two headed off down the trail. He looked over his shoulder to Goov and called, "You might want to do a little extra hunting yourself, mog-ur. Seems like we'll need some more meat around here."

Kyani knew that Broud had given his permission, though he didn't exactly say it. She pulled out her son's best clothes, a wrap and boots lined with grey wolf fur, and bid the boy to change. Then she changed into her own finest dress, hung with beads of jet and rare amethyst that matched her eyes and trimmed with black fur. For a few moments her daughters fluttered about her hearth, picking through Kyani's boxes of necklaces and other ornaments. Oga swept her baby up again, and Ebra, who was in the early stages of pregnancy herself, hurried beside them. Kyani put her arm over her tall son's shoulders, and they walked over to Durc's hearth, where they stood by the hearthstones in silence.

Ayla's steady gaze took in the small woman with her ivory skin and deep black hair-obviously born to the Others-and her three children. The two daughters were extremely beautiful, like their mother, their brilliant chestnut hair flowing down their backs. The boy was Broud, almost completely, but very tall and with dark indigo eyes. Ayla could hardly believe the level of intricacy in the Clan's costumes, and now she understood. This woman was the cause of it. And this woman-Ayla could see clearly-was Broud's woman. Ayla was a trained priestess, more than that, for she possessed all the Mother's gifts where most wise women had but one or two. But for the life of her, she couldn't understand how Broud had come to mate this woman, or how so many changes had happened to his Clan. She could still hardly believe she was sitting at her son's hearth, holding her granddaughter in her lap. Her only regret now was leaving Jonayla behind. But how could she ever have guessed that she would be welcomed with love and good food? Her sight had been blind to Broud's Clan, except for a steady sense that her son was alive. Now she saw that he had been well brought up, and he called Broud his mother's mate. Something very strange had happened here, and Ayla could not begin to understand it.

The woman greeted her in a southern dialect of her own speech, of course badly worn away and with a heavy Clan accent. "I am Kyani," she said. "A long time ago I was born to Namundonii, the Wandering People of the Mother. But I have been Clan since I was but six months a woman. As the leader's mate, I welcome the mother of the son of my mate."

Ayla bowed her head, and told Kyani that she was grateful for the welcome, and so was her mate Jondalar, who sat silently, enjoying Ayla's surprised joy. Internally she reeled: the woman knew? She knew that Broud was Durc's father? Who else knew, Ayla wondered? And then she realized that Kyani could not have called Durc the son of her mate without Broud's recognition, and permission, unless more had changed than she knew! Broud had taken Durc in, Broud had known. Ayla hadn't wanted to violate Clan etiquette, but she had seen the leader leave the cave with Groob. Now, she wished that he would return, if only so she could meet his eyes and read him, and thank him somehow. "You have very lovely children," Ayla said.

Kyani permitted herself a smile; it was appropriate, after all. "This is Oga, my eldest. She is named for Broud's first mate Oga, who died before I came to the Clan. Did you know Oga?"

"I knew her well, and I am sorry to hear that she walks in the next world. How did she die?"

"There was an attack," Kyani said plainly. "Those who were once my people came to kill, for sport. Broud lost his mate, and Brun, his father. And many others. But that is behind us now. Broud has made us safe, and Brac will continue his father's vigilance. And Oga is training to be a medicine woman; she is very skilled. She is mated to Uba's son Vorn, a strong hunter. This is my second daughter Ebra. She is newly mated to Groob. And this fine young man of nine winters is my son Varin, which is a close enough rendering in Clan language of my father's name Gadvin."

Ayla greeted the handsome children courteously. And then she focused all her skill on Kyani, and she read passion and hardship and struggle, combined with something of the pampered flashiness of many adored women of high status that she had known. Kyani, whose aunt was a holy woman of some skill, knew that she was being examined, and she smiled softly. "I am pleased you have come to see Durc," Kyani said. "It has been the great desire of his life. He is a fine hunter, Ayla, and very skilled with spirits. He will be a great mog-ur, Broud and I are sure of it. I see now that perhaps he has inherited some of the gifts of his mother, as well as being Iza and Creb's great nephew."

"Perhaps," Ayla said with typical modesty, even as Jondalar choked on a bit of laughter. Ayla kept her warm gaze on Kyani and said, "I see, also, that perhaps I have much to thank you for, Kyani. We will have much to discuss, I believe."

Kyani nodded slightly, politely; but she thought that it was not her who Ayla needed to speak most with. But he was as stubborn as an old bison, and Kyani thought it unlikely that Ayla would begin the conversation after all the bitterness that had been between them. So she was astounded when Broud returned later and threw an ibex down at her feet, saying, "Durc! Invite your mother and her companion to eat with us tonight."

Ayla looked up at this unexpected invitation. A woman given much reverence in her world, she feared that she would not be able to assume a docile enough posture for Broud; and she had sworn that she never would, never again, for it would be to betray herself and the oaths she had taken. But something had happened to Broud, something that had changed his insides even though he looked so much the same, if bigger and older. He gave a little grunt showing his lack of surprise at her pride, and then he looked levelly into Ayla's eyes, and bowed his head slightly. Ayla was still clinging to Durc's hand, as if she would never let it go again, and Broud, shocked to his soul, found that he was deeply, deeply satisfied in the end.