When the other men left the meeting place, Brun stayed seated and motioned for Mog-ur to stay behind as well.
"I need your advice, Mog-ur. It's about Broud. I would like to know what you think about his words today."
Mog-ur, who had not got up like the others, nodded knowingly. "I had wanted to speak to you about the same. They trouble you?"
"Yes. He said all the right words, but I don't trust that he meant them." Brun shook his head - the concept of deceit was hard to wrap his mind around, and harder to put into words. "I would like to think that he understood his error, but I can't fully believe it. It was such a sudden change of behaviour."
"I agree, there was something off about it all. His admission of guilt surprised me, as did his acceptance of the punishment. I had expected him to object to it, and much more so than to Zoug's."
"I had expected the same." Brun was glad he wasn't alone with his opinion. "But he did seem to call on his totem before he made his first statement. He might have done so in an attempt to ask its help for doing what he had to know was right. He does know, doesn't he, Mog-ur? Could I have failed him so completely?"
Brun's worry grew as he didn't receive an answer. "Tell me, Creb," he demanded, addressing Mog-ur as his brother instead as the clan's holy man. "What do you think of the son of my mate?"
Creb sighed deeply. "I think," he signed slowly, "that Broud is a troubled man. His temper is as volatile as his totem's and too often, he is unable to control it. Children learn to control their emotions as they grow, so they may become productive members of their clan who don't cause trouble and danger for all. Even Ayla, despite all her differences, seems to have learnt this in the end."
Brun nodded in agreement. They'd had to make allowances for Ayla, but she had developed into a productive clan member and seemed to have no inclination to overstep the boundaries that had been set for her. Broud, on the other hand . . .
"I might be biased," Creb went on, "because Ayla is the daughter of my hearth and it's Broud who attacked her. But I've been asking myself if what troubles him might be more than the inability to restrain his anger. I've been wondering if he might find satisfaction in hurting others."
A feeling of dread spread though Brun at those words. "I have been asking myself the same. If this is true, he can never be leader. But how could he think to deceive us for so long? Or are we mistaken? His words didn't match the emotions I saw in him, but I'm not certain if he was truly deceitful or if he was merely furious and said what he knew was right while still being angry. At me for being about to punish him, at everyone for approving of Zoug's mild punishment."
"Maybe even at himself," Creb suggested, "for losing control in this manner. Or for being unable to be as deceptive as he wished to be."
This was getting into mog-ur territory, and Brun hoped that his brother wouldn't say anything more complicated that would make his head hurt. To his relief, though, when he continued, Brun could follow his thoughts without trouble.
"I'm not sure either, Brun. We will have to watch him closely. If he attempted to deceive us with his words, we'll have to spot the signs in the time to come."
"Now I almost regret having offered him a chance to regain his place. It might have been better to declare Vorn the future leader and be done with it."
"Maybe, but it would be unwise to go back on your decision now," Creb cautioned. "The men need stability in this situation, not a leader who overthrows the decisions he made if there is another way. You will lead for some years yet, and Broud will be under close scrutiny. If he slips up, or if we decide before you step down that he's unsuitable still, Vorn will be leader."
"Yes. And if I should die before Vorn is ready and the men don't trust Broud, they will choose Grod to lead instead until Vorn can take over." As second, Grod was the traditional choice if a leader died whose mate didn't have a son ready to follow him. "I will need your help in this, brother."
"You have it, Brun. I've also thought of something else to do. I will make Broud a charm from the horn of the woolly rhinoceros; he needs all the help his totem can give him. And I will instruct him in meditation exercises usually taught to acolytes. Mog-urs need tight control of themselves to be able to enter into the spirit world, and these exercises help them with it."
"I am grateful. I will order Broud to learn these meditations from you."
At this moment, Brun didn't really believe that Broud would be able to improve himself enough to be considered as leader again. But even if it only served to enable him to master himself and his emotions, Brun would make all possible assistance available to the son of his mate. He would have done the same for any of his men.
.-.-.-.-.-
When Ayla woke up, she felt dizzy and disoriented. She was lying on soft furs, but when she blinked and her surroundings swam into focus, she noticed that she wasn't in Zoug's hearth. Confused, she tried to sit up, but her arms gave in almost immediately, and she slumped back down.
"Ayla."
The sight of Iza appearing over her helped to calm her - but only for a moment. Then she remembered what had happened. Her hands felt heavy as stones as she struggled to make the signs.
"My baby?"
Iza shook her head. "It was a boy, but he didn't live. It was too early."
Ayla closed her eyes against the words formed by Iza's hands. Of course she had known it; she'd known from the moment the contractions had started that her baby would die. Still, she realised now, somehow she'd hoped that it wouldn't happen, that against all odds, her baby would live. Her son. The only child she would ever have.
She should be feeling something, she thought vaguely. Grief. Anger. She should be keening, like all women did at a death, her eyes should be watering as they always did when she was sad. But there was nothing; Ayla stayed silent, and her eyes stayed dry.
Iza was calling her, touching her shoulder, but Ayla didn't feel like reacting. What did it matter what Iza had to say? When, a few moments later, Iza lifted her head to press a cup against her lips, she turned away.
Iza kept trying to talk to her, to rouse her to a reaction, but all Ayla did was curl deeper into her furs, ignoring her mother. Why drink, or eat, or do anything at all? What was there for her, now that her baby had died?
.-.-.-.-.-.
"I don't know what to do anymore," Iza told Zoug. "She still won't talk to me or even look at me. She won't eat, and I barely manage to make her drink a few sips when she's half asleep."
Almost three days had passed since Ayla had woken up the afternoon of the day of the men's meeting, and still, Zoug was fearing for the life of his mate.
"I need you to tell me, Iza: do you think she's trying to grieve herself to death?"
A woman wanting to die over a dead child that hadn't even been named and accepted wasn't completely unheard of, but it was very rare. With Ayla - and many others - convinced that she would have no further children, it was a little easier to understand, though.
Iza nodded. "The night when she gave birth, she told me to let her die. She asked me why she should want to live when her baby was dead. I thought it was because of the situation, that she'd feel better once she wasn't in so much pain anymore. But if she goes on like this, she'll make herself die of thirst or starvation."
"I will talk to her. I'll ask Mog-ur to make me a charm for protection, and I'll inform Brun." Ayla was still under the woman's curse, and no man could talk to her or even directly look at her without danger. But Zoug knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if Ayla died and he hadn't done everything that was in his power to help her.
Brun had no objections, and Mog-ur agreed immediately to his request and retreated to his small cave to fashion the charm. Zoug knew that as the man of her hearth, he must be at least as worried about Ayla as himself. A while later, Mog-ur returned to Zoug's hearth with a necklace made from sinew from which a claw and two canines were dangling, with several small bones around them.
"The claw in the middle is from Ursus," he explained, "the teeth next to it are from your totem, the Brown Bear, as are the bones. It's the strongest protection against the woman's curse that I can give you."
Zoug put on the necklace and conveyed his gratitude, but Mog-ur didn't want to hear it. "All I want is for the daughter of my hearth to live."
When they entered Mog-ur's hearth, it was the first time since the incident with Broud that Zoug could lay eyes on his mate again. He felt somewhat apprehensive because of the woman's curse, but the feeling left when he touched the charm around his neck. Mog-ur was the greatest holy man in all the clans, and his magic would not fail.
Slowly, Zoug made his way to Iza's furs, where Ayla was lying with her back to the rest of the hearth. She was naked under the covers, her long, yellow hair a matted nest on her head, the arm that Zoug could see stick-thin, her shoulder blade jutting out sharply. Even if Iza managed to keep her hydrated, it wouldn't take too long anymore until Ayla would have starved herself to death.
Zoug sat down next to her with a heavy heart. What he'd told Brun before Ayla had regained consciousness was still true: if she died, he didn't wish to remain behind for much longer. He couldn't envision a fulfilled life for himself if he had to return to Grod's hearth without Ayla by his side. But what could he do to convince her when her mother had failed? They had been mated for such a short time only.
"Ayla."
Usually, a woman would respond instantly to a man calling her, but Ayla didn't move. Zoug hadn't truly expected it. He imagined that if someone wanted to die, custom and appropriateness mattered little anymore. Still, he tried again, touching her shoulder as he called her name. There was no reaction, and Zoug shook his head to himself. If he could do anything at all, it would take a while.
Spirit of Brown Bear, he silently called on his and Ayla's totems, Spirit of Cave Lioness, your plan was not to let Ayla's baby live. But it can't be to have her die on me as well, can it? Why did you send me those dreams if you meant to take her away so soon? Help me. Help me convince my mate of wanting to live.
He was ready for Ayla to try and push him away when he reached under the furs and carefully pulled her up against his chest, turning her around in the process, but she didn't. Neither did she curl against him, as she had done all those nights they had spent in their furs together. She simply stayed limp, her head coming to rest on his broad shoulder.
Zoug was shocked at how frail she felt in his embrace, much more, he imagined, than a Clan woman would even after such an ordeal - he'd got used to her being slimmer and feeling different than a normal woman, but now he was reminded of it forcefully. The large fur that had covered her had slipped as he'd moved her, and when she shivered, he quickly pulled it back up to her shoulders.
"Ayla," he murmured, touching her tangled hair, letting the strands run through his fingers like he'd become used to doing when he would wake up at night, or earlier than her in the morning, when everyone else was still asleep and she was pressed against him for warmth. "Ayla."
He got no answer, and a for a while, he simply sat and petted her hair. He was aware that Mog-ur, Iza, and Uba were watching him unobtrusively, but they didn't disturb him, and he resolved not to care that he was being watched.
It was eerie, Zoug contemplated, how Ayla's eyes were open, but she didn't truly seem to look at anything. He tried talking to her, making one-handed gestures in front of her face, asking her to look at him, but to no avail. In the end, he simply went back to holding her.
After a while, Iza brought him a cup of tea, and he accepted it gratefully.
"If I can do anything," he told her, "it might take a while longer. If Mog-ur doesn't object, just go about your normal day. I'll call you if I or Ayla need anything."
After that, all that he could think of doing was to wait and see if he might have an idea, though what that should be, he didn't know. He feared that in the end, he wouldn't be able to do anything, and Ayla would simply grieve away what strength she still had in her, until she would be gone.
It would be a terrible loss, he thought, not only for him, but for Mog-ur and Iza as well, and Uba - and the entire clan. Ayla was a hunter, and more importantly a medicine woman, but even that wasn't all of it. Zoug didn't fully grasp how or why, but he had the impression that despite the strife it had brought, their clan had gained something by allowing her untraditional ways, and they would lose it if she left them.
"You mustn't leave us, Ayla," he told her, knowing she wouldn't see his words. "What am I to do without you?"
Zoug didn't want to think about the fact that this might be the last time he would do this as he put his hand on her cheek like he'd done so often, lowering his head until his brow ridges touched her forehead. He closed his eyes, then, and stayed like this, focussing on the way their breath mingled, and how, slowly, their breathing took on the same rhythm. The sounds of the hearth and the cave faded away, until it was only the two of them - and soon, she would be gone. If his eyes could water like hers, they might do so now, Zoug thought, but he didn't move, didn't want to admit to himself that he had no idea what to do but wait until his mate would die.
He had no idea how long they had sat like this - almost, he thought he'd dozed off for a while - when he felt something wet on his hand. He didn't dare move - and then there was more wetness and a deep breath, Ayla tensing against him as she began to wail, softly at first, then louder, until she was almost screaming and Zoug was sure the whole cave must hear her. Still he didn't move, but when she began shaking and then jerking in his embrace, like she'd done the day in autumn when Iza had confined her to her furs, he held her closer, slowly rocking her back and forth for as long as it took.
Finally, she fell still, and Zoug opened his eyes, looking down at his mate. Ayla was looking back at him from eyes that were bruised with exhaustion, but clear and perfectly aware.
"Ayla," he murmured, amazed, but she frowned at him unhappily as she pulled one hand from under the furs.
"Why?" she signed shakily. "Why can't you just leave me be?"
Zoug shook his head - he hadn't expected the accusation, and he had no idea how to react to it.
"My baby, my son died. I'll never have another, and all I want is to go with him. Why can't you let me?"
"Because I love you, and I can't imagine my hearth without you anymore." It was the only thing Zoug knew to say, and it made Ayla's eyes grow wide as she stared at him. "If you let yourself die, Ayla, then I don't know that I want to live either. What is there for me if you're gone? I'll go back to Grod's hearth where I'm nothing but an old man who takes up space. I'll lie in my furs at night missing the way you wrap your too long legs around mine. I'll go out to hunt alone, with nobody to best me with the sling. I'll tell hunting stories to boys who can't appreciate them half as well as you do, or make that happy grimace you make and that I want to see every day. I know you're grieving, but I can't stand the thought of you leaving me. But I've never had a mate like you, and even if I were young again, I wouldn't want any other."
Zoug didn't know what had come over him - he'd never intended saying any of this, and yet all of it was true. Men didn't bare their feelings like he had just done, but if it meant Ayla would live, he didn't care.
Still, Ayla was staring at him as if he were an apparition from the spirit world - and then, slowly, she reached up to touch his cheek with trembling fingers. He reciprocated immediately, once more leaning down until their foreheads touched. This time, it took only a few moments, then Ayla's hand slid down into her lap again, and he sat up straighter.
"Stay with me, Ayla."
She nodded, a few drops of water running from her eyes as she turned to hide her face against his shoulder.
Zoug clutched her closer to him, taking some deep, shaky breaths. The worst was over. Whatever would come now, he could deal with it.
