Chapter Text
"If you curse Ayla, then I demand you curse me too!" The Mog-Ur gestured, his lips set into a snarl, angrier than almost anyone had ever seen him. The Clan around him stared, still reeling from the earthquake that had partially destroyed their cave. Unlike the one that had taken place nearly fourteen years prior, however, there was no plan, no unity among the members to find their missing or dead - only the wailing of Uka signaled Grod was dead. Now there was only chaos of the sort that did not exist in the living memory of any of the Clan members: a brewing rift. He limped his way next to Ayla, drawing himself up to stand next to her, and in his cloak he looked as fearsome as any bear.
Though Creb was one of the oldest members of the clan, he was not, precisely, old. The harsh life of hunting and gathering aged the clan members, and the world was unforgiving: the harshness of their lives killed most before they could truly feel the effects of age; disease, illness, and accidents were deadly, even with capable medicine women. In this way his disability had sheltered him from what the men faced during hunts, and Creb had a good chance of living long past the time most men died.
The Clan was doomed - it was clear from Ayla's intrusion into the ceremony. It was this knowledge that gave him the permission he needed to go to Ayla's side, to eschew traditions - what did it matter if he died with Ayla? Broud's eyes were popping out of his skull. He went nearly slack-jawed when Iza, without any hesitation or declaration, stood next to her sibling and her first daughter.
"Goov!" Broud gestured, so violently that he almost hit Oga, who was struggling to stand. "You heard what they said, curse them!"
Goov barely saw the order, so horrified at what had transpired. He turned to Creb, and then to Brun, but both men had their jaws set in a similar fashion, though Brun looked so disgusted that Goov quickly looked away.
"We would need time to prepare, and it could be unlucky," Goov hedged, instead of denying Broud outright. He could not believe what he was seeing - the argument over the hearth had been enough, but now Broud wanted him to curse the Mog-Ur? Goov's own old mentor?
"He's no longer the Mog-Ur, he's just a crippled old man," Broud said, glaring at the three of them. "And she's just an old woman - if she wants to go with them, she's welcome to it."
"You want to send so many to the spirit world?" Brun said.
"You are not the leader anymore, old man! I am, and I want them cursed!"
"You'll have to curse me, too," Zoug said sharply. It was a snap decision, but the son of his mate was dead. The man had never liked Broud, and watching Broud's treatment of Creb had shown him clearly how he could expect to be treated from this point onwards. They had disliked each other since Broud was young, but this behavior disgusted Zoug.
Uka was still wailing over Grod's body, but tensions were too high for anyone to join her just yet. Broud glared hatefully across at the three of them.
"I'll risk the spirits. Curse them!"
That statement was enough for other clan members to shift uncomfortably, and Ona pressed against Borg as if scared, but when he looked at her she cast her eyes to the forming party across the way meaningfully. Borg and Ona were insulated by way of not being so involved in the struggles between Ayla and Broud, and he was a young man - he had admired Broud growing up. He also loved his family, as did Ona - but they were both horrified by what had happened, and shaken by Grod's death. Borg looked around, wondering where everyone else stood - he did not wish to die for Ayla, but he was willing to stand with her if it might make Broud see reason before he cursed the old Mog-Ur and two medicine women. However, something caught his attention.
Oga had one arm around Brac, but her youngest son Grev was nowhere in sight. Oga herself had a hand to her head, but she was looking around, blinking blood out of her eyes. "Grev!" She shouted, and a few more heads turned to her, and people began to look around. It was Aba who called out, falling to her knees as she held the child's young body, battered bloody by the rubble. Oga wailed, and she and Brac ran to Aba's side to mourn their child and brother. He had been seven years old.
Broud staggered for a moment, as if mortally wounded, but then turned his head to glare hatefully at Ayla. "You! This is all your fault - all your fault! Grev! My son! I'll curse you myself!"
How could Broud, even now, only be focused on how much he hated Ayla? There was grief in his movements, yes, but worse, a bubbling hatred. He stepped forward, clearly intent on hitting her, but the old Mog-Ur stepped forward, his face molten, and this was enough to make Broud falter.
"Do you know nothing? Inviting those spirits at a time like this? Take your time to grieve, Broud, we all need it!"
Broud got in the Mog-Ur's face. That was enough to make up Borg's mind. He gestured to Ona, and they quickly stepped to the growing group. Broud's face contorted as he saw Borg and Ona with the others, and Borg wondered if he would truly curse them all. It was a terrible thing to do to his leader, but the shock of the earthquake kept the full weight of realization off of Borg. The whole clan was in shock, making decisions without regard. It was an excessively dangerous state of mind.
Goov was relieved as Borg joined the group. "If we cursed them, all of them," he gestured then to Borg and Ona and Zoug. "The spirits will take us all, Broud." He hoped this would settle the matter, and that life would return to normal. But what normal was there to return to, with the cave destroyed?
Broud's face was blotchy in color, and his fists were working. There was an animal rage to his eyes, the rage of someone denied retribution again and again. Ayla did not quail under his malevolent eyes, but met it, her chin raised.
The clan rarely had schisms. Tension was inevitable, but the threat of nature usually kept the group working together. Infighting led to vulnerability led to death. Smaller groups, too, were likely to struggle, especially when they traveled. The moments after an earthquake were the worst possible ones for an argument like this to happen, and it threatened the entire clan's survival. From her position next to Vorn, Uba hesitated, sensing the rapidly forming gulf and aware she would have to make a choice. Generations of tradition demanded she submit to her mate, be a good woman and obey him and her leader under all circumstances. However, a series of quiet rebellions had started in her line, as the medicine woman's status allowed her privacy, and a measure of control over their own lives. Her own mother, Iza, had silently taken contraceptives for over a decade to humiliate her husband. Uba was not unfamiliar with the power struggles of women - and she had been raised with Ayla as a sister-mother. Ayla, who struggled and chafed under every yoke the Clan had put on her. Uba did not like Broud, but she liked her mate. Still, she had not known the sting of loss before, and she was still a very young woman. Without thinking of the consequences, without knowing what exactly she was choosing, Uba rushed to her family, Ayla's son in her arms.
Vorn realized, but he realized a heartbeat too late, and his fingers brushed against Uba's wrap. It was Ayla who caught Uba and Durc, elation and terror coursing through them all.
"Uba!" Iza said, and was so overwhelmed she could not sign - she threw herself to cling to them, just glad that there were enough people to make Broud hesitate in the curse. Everyone else was horrified, but struggling to react - Creb himself was guiltily pleased that Uba had defied her mate, even as Broud stepped forward.
Ayla intercepted him. When he swung at her, Ayla ducked and shoved him the way she remembered seeing him shove Zoug, low so he lost his footing and fell. Broud howled from the ground, muscles tensing to charge her.
"Broud!" Brun shouted, loudly enough to make Broud freeze, and the old man walked up to him. "Leader you may be, but you are no son of mine! You have debased yourself again and again! How is a woman threatened with the loss of her son more in control than you? Why do you think Uba did that? What faith can any man or woman have in you?"
For all his rage, Broud was deeply wounded, and he and Brun glared at one another. He wanted, intensely, to attack his father - but if he did, he knew he would lose the trust of everyone who still followed him. Instead, he turned to the group of eight.
"Maybe I can't curse you, but none of you are welcome here. Leave! I order this!"
Broud did not take his eyes of Ayla, so Brun nodded to Goov, who stepped forward. This was chaos- there were procedures for doing this with consideration - but things had fallen apart too quickly.
"You have until tomorrow's midday to take your belongings, one coal from the fire, and leave. As I petition the spirits for Grev and Grod, I will ask them to guard your journey."
There would be no more fighting; though individual clan people occasionally fought and killed each other, tribal warring was an idea none, not even the Mog-Ur, had considered. There was no benefit to killing one another on such a scale, only the weakening of a clan. Cooperation was highlighted above all in the people, and if Broud insisted they attack one another, he was more likely to be the one attacked. This was the closest he could come to winning - and yet all he tasted was defeat and humiliation.
Those leaving were quiet. Uka silently joined them, helping Zoug pack the hearth. Vorn kept staring at Borg as if he could find a way to understand why his brother was leaving with Ayla, a woman Vorn did not precisely hate, but had never favored. In his eyes, she had stolen his mate away. Uba clung to Ayla and kept her eyes nearly closed, so as to avoid any discussion of whether she should go back to Vorn. By all rights she was his, but no one except Broud and Vorn wished to push the issue, and were doing everything they could not to force another power struggle. Both Iza and Ayla tried to help Oga, but if any of them even looked in his direction Broud twitched towards them, watching them like an animal he wished to hunt for sport. Oga was unreachable to the medicine women in his hearth, and it hurt them both deeply to see.
If they had been given time to mourn together, some of the rifts might have been repaired - the members of the clan might have been able to speak to their loved ones and come up with an argument to convince their leader to keep everyone. Splits took place under one situation alone - intense interpersonal stress that did not have a clear solution, or a solution people were willing to undertake. Usually, the tragedy of an earthquake would redirect everyone to manage their resources and focus on survival. But Broud, in his own way, was a marvel of nature: so bull-headed was he, he could not set aside his grudges for the sake of his Clan. Now, he paid for it.
This was the beginning of a process that would shape the world in millennia to come: the idea that there was a difference between family and community, and the prioritization of family.
Instead, the eight adults and one child looked out over their kin, the people they had grown up with and loved deeply. Creb looked inquiringly at Brun and Ebra, but was not surprised when Brun shook his head.
"I ignored every sign that our leader was unfit for leadership - I found a reason to excuse his behavior every time. Broud has lost every time to Ayla. Ayla, who should have been the son of my mate!"
Creb nodded solemnly. He understood what Brun had not said: Brun felt responsible for what had transpired, and Brun would see it to the bitter end. "If we are lucky, we will see each other at the next Clan gathering," Creb said instead, giving finality to what everyone knew: there was no way to turn back from this. Ayla, at his side, shuddered silently.
"Walk with Ursus, my brother," Brun said, and glanced at Broud - but he had spent the past hours glaring furiously, and would not act as a responsible leader would. Brun instead directed the farewell to the entire group, instead, and the women of both clans began to wail, grieving for one another.
There was a moment of indecision among the travelers, as to how they would organize themselves. Eyes flicked between Zoug and Mog-Ur for a long moment, before an idea occurred to Creb.
"I told you I would follow you into the spirit world," he motioned gently. "I would follow you still."
Ayla jerked, not entirely comprehending, but everyone else in their little group respected the Mog-Ur deeply enough - or they were in enough shock - that no one argued. Ayla took a deep breath, squeezed her young son's hand, and stepped in front of the group, and led them away.
She could feel Broud's eyes on her back long after she could no longer see him.