Uba turned to sign so that Ura would not see, though the young woman barely even breathed now. "The bleeding won't stop." They all knew the full meaning of what she said. Ura would die.
The newborn baby boy in Aga's arms made a mewling sound. The woman began to rock him, bending and twisting her torso slightly. Ona gazed at the little bundle her mother held with eyes full of sorrow. She had lost her own daughter, not a full round of the seasons old, two moons ago, and her milk was long gone. None of the others had a nursing child. Erna, Groob's mate, would not give birth for at least another moon. If Ura died, the baby was doomed, even if Broud allowed it to live.
From the other side of the cave, Durc saw Uba's statement. He rose and walked out. His long legs carried him quickly away from the cave, but not from his dying hope that dragged him down farther with every step. What did he have left, with no mate?
Ura had been promised to him since infancy. Though deformed, like him, she had been a good woman; a good--no, a wonderful mate. She had accepted him, cared for him despite his ugliness and low status. As they came to know one another, looks mattered less to both of them. He had delighted in making her happy, and she had given him every possible sign of her love and fidelity. It was as if Ursus Himself had destined them for one another. A future without her seemed unendurably barren.
He stopped at the top of a steep hill overlooking the river valley and the cave that sheltered his clan--Broud's clan. Sunlight slanted through the clouds to reveal an aura of green and gold over the trees and shrubs below. The new growth of spring gave promise of abundant life even while death stalked his hearth. His heart grew colder and heavier as he stood there, until he wondered if the spirits might take him too.
They had taken his mother. They had taken Brun, that dear, wise old man who had helped teach him to hunt. Many of those he had known in childhood were gone. Now they took Ura, his mate, and their newborn child. For a long time he stood there, watching cloud shadows cross the land. Wind blew his hair--straighter, finer, and lighter-colored than that of normal people--into his face. He could see the women carrying the bundle that was Ura's body from the cave, and the smaller burdens that were strictly women's business. Mog-ur followed those who would dig Ura's grave. None of the other men accompanied him; that would be Broud's doing.
Durc would have--should have--gone to say farewell to her, but he felt too numb to mourn except by standing here mute as a stone. At last he moved, making his way slowly back to the cave as the sun sank behind the western mountains.
The hearth had already been cleaned. In fact, it was no longer a hearth. Durc stared blankly at the narrow space that had once been allotted to him and Ura. Nothing--no bed, no storage baskets, no trace of their brief but happy occupation had been left. Even the hearthstones were moved. It was as if their time together had never happened.
"Durc."
At the sound of Broud's voice he spun around. The proud, handsome clan leader stood several paces away, hands lifted in a way that meant "Listen to what I say".
"Yes, Broud," Durc said. He slouched and kept his eyes aimed low, womanlike, out of habit. Broud disliked having to look up at the taller, deformed man, and it made him easier to get along with.
"This clan has suffered long enough from your bad luck. You will no longer live among us. If any other clan will have you, that is their problem. Leave, and do not come back, or you will be cursed with death." Broud showed his teeth briefly, agressively emphasizing his decree.
Durc stiffened and his eyes met Broud's for a moment in an incredulous stare. He glanced around at the other hearths. Grev looked away, his body expressing great unease. Vorn also refused to meet his gaze. Uba, the woman he had called Mother for most of his life, gave him an anguished look, then hid her face in her hands. Iza clung to her, frightened eyes wide. Other eyes gleamed briefly in the firelight but turned away.
Only one voice lifted in protest. Mog-ur stood just inside the windscreen at the front of the cave. Durc had not noticed him sitting outside meditating, but he had followed Durc in. "Broud," Goov said. The leader swiveled to face him, scowling. "I advise you to think on this one more time. This clan can't afford to lose another hunter. I will not perform the curse again, you know that."
"Why? We have enough hunters. What do we need with a deformed half-man who brings ill-luck upon us? I allowed his ugly mate to dwell in our cave, honoring the agreement made before I led. Now she is gone, with the deformed whelp that she bore. Enough of this arguing. I am leader. I have put up with this piece of dung far too long. He goes now!" The chopping hand-motion and another snarl ended his speech. With a look of arrogant triumph, Broud turned away.
"Durc," Goov said quietly. His voice went unheard. A red flood of anger blinded and deafened Durc. He stood shaking with it for a moment, then cast about with wild eyes. The pile of stones that had been his hearth--and Ura's--he stepped to it, grabbed one up, and swung back around, taking a few long strides. He raised the stone high and flung it at Broud.
It struck the back of Broud's head at point-blank range. The clan leader fell forward, his face smashing against the floor of the cave. Durc stood rock-still, his mind suddenly clear again. Those who had seen it gaped in shock, clutching at their amulets. Several men began to rise to their feet but did not leave their hearths. They looked confused, dazed as women.
Durc abruptly spun and tore out of the cave, slapping a windscreen aside. Goov looked at Broud's unconscious form, still breathing but with a raspy, gurgling sound. Blood pooled around his head. The mog-ur turned away for a moment. All he could see through the partly open leather drape was the black of night. He raised one hand, not sure why, and signed "Walk with Ursus."
Once outside the cave, Durc could hardly see at first. Somehow his legs stayed under him as he ran through the night. The clan had worn a path to the river's edge and along its bank, and his feet knew it even in the dark.
His eyes soon grew accustomed to the greater darkness. Above him gleamed the hearths of the dead and unborn of the Clan, dimly lighting his way. He kept going, loping downstream, though he hardly knew why. His life might as well be over now. He had no more home; his unspeakable act of violence condemned him more than Broud's dictatorial ruling. Even if he were not death-cursed, he was condemned to live apart from the Clan. No one would take in a man who had struck down his leader, and one who was deformed besides.
He stopped to get a drink of water where herds of animals in their seasonal migrations from one source of food to another had kept the bank worn to an easy slope. The river ran high this early in the season. Durc could swim; "mamma" had taught him before she went to live with the spirits. But he contemplated the water as a means of release from his ruined life. It would be so easy, probably not even painful. Would he see Ura again? Would they share a hearth in the sky?
It looked cold and lonely up there. The hearths must be far apart, to appear so small from here. He gazed at the hearth of Ursus, that all of the others circled about. Great Ursus, he signed, forgive this unworthy man for what he has done and what he is about to do.
Durc closed his eyes and clasped his right hand over his amulet. O Spirit of the Grey Wolf, he thought, you have never forsaken me, but I am not worthy of you. I will ask no more of you in this life, but if it be your will, I ask that you guide me into the next.
He turned once more toward the ice-cold water that rushed past on its way to the sea. Even as he poised to leap into the river, he heard a sound that stopped him, raising the hair on his neck.
From the foothills above and behind him came the long howl of a wolf. Its mournful song rose to a peak of high-pitched sound like a woman's keen, then fell to an eerie moan. Another howl began, and yet another and another all together, a whole pack crying in wild harmony. Across the river, another pack began an answering song.
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