PART ONE: Portents

CHAPTER 1

For three days and three nights, she ate nothing. Her body felt frail and light, as if it barely belonged to her. She sat naked now on the ceremonial chair near the center of the Spirit House, close to a great crackling fire of pine logs, while the elder women of her tribe knelt on the hard earthen floor and chanted the Song of First Blood. The sound filled Mara’s ears, steady and rhythmic, like the sound of blood in her veins. She clung to the rough poles of the chair, forcing herself to sit motionless. She felt dizzy, thirsty, and scared.

Lizel, the old priestess, had donned her lion skin—the sacred costume which she only wore when a girl came of age. She was moving around the big fire, now, crouching, snarling, and leaping, then freezing for long moments and staring into midair as if there were creatures there which only she could see. She called to the Spirit of the Sun; she called to his wife, the Moon; she called to all the animal spirits, and she shook her talisman—a sheep stomach that had been hardened with glue from the hooves of bison and filled with small stones. The rattling was a sharp sound, so sudden that it seemed frightening amid the gentle tones of the women’s voices.

Lizel stooped and picked up a leather bowl. She threw water from it onto hot stones that had been ranged around the fire, and steam hissed and billowed up till the whole house was filled with warm, damp mist. Mara felt it on her face, and the mist seemed to make it more difficult for her to breathe. She gulped air, feeling anxious that she might faint and disgrace herself. Somehow, she told herself, she would endure. It would not be much longer now. She was almost a woman.

Lizel stopped her dance, and the women stopped their singing. For a long moment, it was ominously silent in the round, windowless Spirit House. Lizel bowed to the fire and stood for a moment in contemplation. Then she walked toward Mara and crouched low, less than an arm’s length away.

The priestess was a frightening sight, with the lion skin draped across her back and its head concealing hers. Its fangs were bared, and pebbles of quartz were set where its eyes had been. They glowed dimly, as if they had somehow trapped some light from the Moon.

Steam still rose from the stones around the fire, casting halos around the yellow flames. The house was so hot that Mara was sweating now, despite her nakedness.

“I am a great mountain cat,” Lizel said. Her voice had changed; it was low and guttural, as if the spirit of the cat really had invaded her body. “Its spirit lives with mine,” she said. “Its voice speaks with mine. Its strength is in my flesh. With its power, I call upon Mother Moon. Look kindly on this girl. Today she will be a woman. Tonight, a bride.”

There was a gentle murmuring from all the women gathered around.

Lizel leaned closer to Mara—so close, the lion mask almost touched her face. “Speak your name.”

Mara’s mouth was painfully dry. She swallowed, and she felt as if the skin inside her throat was cracking. “I am Mara of the Lake People,” she said.

“Speak your clan! Louder, now!”

“My clan is the clan of Ternees. Ternees, my mother, is the Chieftain of our tribe.”

There was another low murmur of assent.

“Good. It is time now to meet your spirit.” Lizel picked up a small leather sack which had been painstakingly ornamented with drawings etched into the skin. “Breathe the fragrance of the land where all creatures make their home. Breathe deeply, and let the land tell you whose spirit is yours.”

The mouth of the sack was pressed tight over Mara’s face. She inhaled and almost choked on the pungent fragrance of herbs, dried flowers, and grasses. She breathed again, and felt herself getting dizzy. The crackling of the fire started moving away from her, as if her own spirit was escaping her flesh. Her vision darkened. She felt herself swaying.

“Breathe deeply!”

The air grew so dark, all Mara could see were the gleaming quartz lion-eyes. As if in the distance on a grassy plain, she heard an animal scream—and yet, it was more than a scream. It seemed like a voice, talking to her now, telling her of the life it led roaming the wild country, hunting through the tall grasses.

“Cat,” she muttered, as the bag was taken from her mouth. “Bobcat.”

“Ah.” Lizel’s voice sounded close, yet far away. “The bobcat is quick, fierce, and strong.” Once again she pressed the leather sack to Mara’s face. “Now, your journey.”

Mara took quick, panting breaths. She felt her body trembling. She had very little strength left. Once again, her vision darkened. Sounds grew deeper in her ears. Everything around her seemed slow and dim.

She lost all sight of the lion mask and the house where the fire lit the faces of the waiting women. She seemed to be standing out on the grassland. A crescent moon was in the sky, and there was a group of low, mounded silhouettes in the distance—a village, she realized. Her village, the home of her people, by the Great Lake. There was a feeling of deep peace and tranquillity.

And then, suddenly, it was transformed. The village was in flames. The whole land was burning. There was a roaring sound. The heat hit her face. A black shape came running toward her, as if it meant to strike her down. It was a huge black bear, its teeth bared, its body towering over her.

Its fur was matted with fresh, thick blood.

Mara screamed.

 

She found herself slumped in the chair. It seemed as if a whole day had passed, although she knew it had only been moments. Lizel’s hands were shaking her by the shoulders. “Tell, Mara. Tell what you saw.”

“A bear,” Mara gasped. Should she say more? No; what she had seen was too terrible. It would disrupt the ceremony. She shouldn’t talk of it—not now, maybe not ever.

“A bear.” Lizel turned to the audience of women. “The strongest, most powerful hunter. Mara’s life journey will bring her strength. She, too, will be strong.” Lizel stepped back, reached under her lion skin, and pulled out a long flint knife. Then she squatted down in the birthing position. She put her free hand between her legs and gave a loud yell, a cry of exultation, a cry of life itself. Suddenly something was in her hands, as if she had dragged it from inside her body. It was a small furry shape, a rabbit so freshly killed that it was not yet stiff. She brought the flint knife around in a quick, scything motion, and blood welled up amid the fur.

Lizel leaped up. The rabbit’s belly had been slit wide open. She wiped it across Mara’s bare torso, from her neck, down between her breasts, all the way to her thighs, where Mara had bled for the first time just seven days ago. Then Lizel reached with gnarled hands inside the furry form and dragged out the liver, glistening so dark that it seemed black. “Eat!” she cried, pressing it to Mara’s lips.

After her three days of fasting, the taste was almost too intense for Mara to bear. She choked, but finally managed to chew and shallow.

Lizel stepped back. “Mara is a girl no longer,” she proclaimed. “She is a woman now. I say it, and it is so.”

Suddenly there was a yelling so loud, Mara feared her skull would break. All the women in the Spirit House were on their feet, shouting their approval. They started flinging tiny stones, a hailstorm of gravel. Mara shielded her eyes. Her whole body stung and burned as the stones hit her. She felt overwhelmed—with pain from this new ordeal, and gladness that she was a woman now, and pride that she had endured the ceremony with the courage that was expected of the Chieftain’s daughter.

At the same time, she trembled. As she pressed her hands over her eyes, the darkness seemed to light up with dancing yellow shapes, and once again she saw flames engulfing the buildings of her tribe.

 

Mara found herself being dragged onto her feet. The women were lining up to embrace her. Her mother, Ternees, came first; then her older sister, Shani; then her aunts, Elmay and Jorno and Tamra; then the other female relatives in her clan; and finally, the remaining women of her tribe. Mara felt so dazed, she didn’t really see their faces, and she barely heard their words. They hugged her and patted her, and one by one, they left.

Finally there was no sound in the Spirit House but the crackling of the fire.

Lizel had set aside the lion’s head. Gently, she led Mara to a bed of willow boughs, where she sat her down. She turned to Trifen, a thin, dowdy orphan boy who helped her in the Spirit House, and she told him to bring some hot soup to break Mara’s fast.

The smell of the soup made Mara’s hunger leap inside her, and she found herself drinking greedily from the leather bowl that was placed in her hands. Lizel muttered a command, the bowl was refilled, and Mara drank again.

“Was it … right?” she said, looking up at Lizel, when she had drunk her fill. “Did the spirits smile on me? Was it the way that it’s supposed to be?”

Lizel touched Mara’s shoulder. The old woman’s face was heavily wrinkled, and her deep-set eyes were almost lost in shadow. She seemed bent and frail, and yet even now, Mara sensed the strange power inside her. “It was good, Mara,” Lizel said. “You are a woman now.” She paused for a moment. “Of course, there is more to come.”

“The pairing ceremony?”

Lizel looked solemn. “The pairing.” Once again, she touched Mara’s shoulder. “Rest, now.”

The command seemed to have a power of its own. Mara felt a wave of drowsy warmth spreading out from her belly, making her limbs swollen and heavy. She found herself slumping down on the bed. There was an apprehensive moment as she wondered if sleep might torment her with more visions of fire. But her fears couldn’t stave off the sleep that swept over her as dark and sudden as the fall of night.

 

She dreamed, but not of omens. She found herself standing amid snowy mountains, watching a young hunter running toward her through the drifts. His furs were flapping around him, and his feet were kicking up white powder that glittered in the sunlight. He smiled at her and raised his arm in greeting.

“Kormor,” she cried. “Kormor, I’m here!”

She woke, speaking his name.

“You’ll be with him soon enough.” It was Lizel’s voice. She was sitting close by, wearing different clothes, now—a gray robe stitched together from wolf pelts, with a necklace of mammoth teeth. Her white hair hung almost to her waist. Her face was brown from the sun, the wind, and the passing seasons. “Bring the meat over,” she called to Trifen.

Mara smelled the aroma of roasted rabbit, and her mouth started watering reflexively. The soup and her sleep had merely sharpened her hunger. She found that some sheepskins had been laid over her. She pulled them tighter around her.

Trifen came over holding a board laden with chunks of rabbit meat. He was a shy, thin, serious-faced boy, and he never spoke. Indeed, he had no voice at all, and people said that a sparrow had slipped down into his throat and stolen it while he slept in his crib on the day he was born. He lived with Lizel, helping with all her chores. Since he could not speak, the secrets of her rituals and potions were safe with him.

He kneeled and placed the meat in front of Mara, respectfully avoiding her eyes. Mara seized the food and feasted on it greedily. The taste was so pungent, so aromatic, it brought tears to her eyes.

Once again, in her imagination, she saw Kormor. “Have you been outside at all, Lizel?” she asked. “Have you seen him?”

Lizel smiled faintly. “Today I shall not leave the Spirit House. This is where my power lies.”

Mara turned to Trifen. “What about you? Have you seen Kormor?”

He looked at her uneasily. He never seemed to like it when people spoke to him. Finally, reluctantly, he nodded.

Mara tensed forward. “Did he seem happy?”

Once again, Trifen nodded his head.

Mara lay back on one elbow. Soon, now, she would be paired, and Kormor would be hers. He would be hers. She had spent so much time imagining this day, how it would feel, and what it would mean to her, it was hard now to believe it was finally happening. She was a woman, she reminded herself. She was entitled to a mate. It would be so.

She seized the rest of the rabbit meat and ate it greedily, not caring that the juices ran down her chin.

“Trifen, bring more,” said Lizel.

The boy hurried back to the fire.

Mara looked across at the flames, and the sight of them took away the brief pleasure she had felt. Once again, she saw the village burning and the bear stained with blood. She shifted uneasily. She was not the kind of person who normally had visions. She was practical; she wasn’t a dreamer. When there was a problem, she always wanted to take the simplest path to solve it, and she was never very interested in contemplating the mysteries of life. She lived for the present, not the future.

“Something is troubling you,” said Lizel.

Mara looked up quickly. She found that the old woman had walked closer to her, moving as silently as a shadow. She was looming over Mara, now, and staring down at her. “If you have questions, you should ask them, Mara. If you have doubts, this is the time when they should be spoken.”

Mara shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing,” she said.

Lizel opened her mouth to speak again—but then she paused. There was a faint rustling sound from the doorway of the Spirit House, where doubled panels of mammoth hide shut the world outside. A footstep sounded on the packed earth floor.

Lizel’s face changed. Her expression of thoughtful concern was replaced by one of anger. “Who enters this house?” she called out, turning away from Mara. “This is the Resting Time.” She stepped toward the door. “We must not be disturbed.”

A figure came into view, touched faintly by the firelight. A tall woman stood there, dressed in pale antelope hide. She stood with calm self-assurance, as if Lizel’s words meant nothing to her and this house was hers.

Mara looked at the intruder, and she felt a new, sick sense of foreboding as she recognized Ternees, her mother. “With respect,” Ternees said, “I must speak with my daughter.”

Lizel put her hands on her hips. “You know that this is not customary.”

“I know.” Ternees’s voice was low-pitched and gentle. But Mara knew how deceptive that gentleness could be. Ternees ruled the tribe with compassion, but she never tolerated dissent. “I must speak with her all the same,” she said. She nodded to the priestess. “You will excuse us, please.”

Mara saw Lizel’s profile, thin-lipped with disapproval. Abruptly the priestess turned away. She strode to the fire and sat down near Trifen, turning her back.

Ternees came over to Mara, moving gracefully, as she always did. She seated herself on a tree stump beside the bed of willow boughs, and she clasped her hands on her knees. In all the times Mara had seen her mother, Ternees had always seemed like this, calmly in control, expecting other people to yield to her authority.

Mara was still exhausted from her days of fasting. She was half naked, and her skin was still daubed with blood from the ritual. She felt in no state to deal with her mother. “Why are you here?” she asked.

Ternees watched Mara for a long moment. Her face was enigmatic.

Mara shifted uneasily. “Mother—”

“You are a woman now,” Ternees spoke.

Mara nodded.

“So now you can make your own decisions,” Ternees went on. “As is our custom.”

Mara felt her stomach tensing. She had learned to dread these times when her mother watched her steadily and began speaking in this gentle, reasonable voice. Always, Ternees wanted Mara to do something, or be something. And always, Mara found herself fighting a battle to hold on to her own self, her own spirit, her own needs and desires.

“Still,” Ternees was saying, “you are not yet paired with Kormor. Not until tonight.” Ternees’s dark eyes were unblinking. No doubt she cared for her daughter and wanted her to be happy. But from the outside, Ternees seemed unrelievedly stern, devoid of weakness. “I have told you before,” she said, “that I disapprove of this pairing.”

Mara felt a warmth growing in her chest, and then she felt her face growing hot as the anger spread through her. “Mother, please, this is not the time—”

“I have come here now,” Ternees went on, “because my conscience won’t let me rest unless I suggest to you once more that you should abandon this plan. There is still time, Mara.”

“No!” The word escaped from her with far more force than she had intended. It echoed in the big house.

Ternees didn’t flinch from the sound. She watched Mara as calmly as before. “You have always been the willful one, Mara,” she said. There was regret in her voice, now. “You’re always too restless to wait, too angry to compromise. But think: It can be hard and lonely to choose a path that leads away from your family. I know that it hasn’t always been easy for you in the Clan House. But I tell you this, Mara: If you will postpone this pairing just for a few months, to give yourself a little more time to think—why, all of us will make a special effort for you in our House.”

Mara closed her eyes. There had been other times like this when her mother had tried to tempt her. Sometimes Mara had yielded—yet in the end, it had never brought her happiness. She always seemed to find that to fit in, she had to surrender. “Thank you, Mother,” she said, “but no.”

Ternees made an impatient sound. “You’re a woman now. Doesn’t that give you the confidence to take your time instead of rushing to be paired? This man is from outside our tribe. I don’t believe he’ll make you happy, Mara. I worry for your future. Even now he still doesn’t fully respect our customs—”

Mara struggled up onto her feet. “Mother, I have chosen him!” She felt herself trembling. “And I will be paired with him. Tonight. Please!”

Ternees pressed her lips together. Slowly, taking her time, she stood up opposite Mara. “He shows respect, but he doesn’t feel it. This much I know. Do you dispute it?”

Mara pressed her fingers to her temples. It felt as if her mother was trying to chip away at her, to pry her apart bit by bit, until she could reach inside Mara and seize her spirit and break it. “Please,” Mara muttered.

“He throws a spear farther than other men,” Ternees went on. “That’s the only thing he has to be proud of. Still, he’s arrogant, as if he has more to boast about than we do.”

Mara couldn’t stand it any longer. “Stop it!” she shouted. “Please, I can’t stand it.” She shook her head, and she found tears in her eyes. “Why can’t you let me be the way I want to be?”

Ternees studied her a moment. “I see you haven’t changed,” she said, with a touch of sadness in her voice. She sighed, and the fierceness faded in her. “So be it, Mara.” She wrapped her robe around her, stood up, and took a step back. “I will conduct the pairing ceremony. You will have the man of your choice, since that is our custom.” She looked at Mara just once more, and this time she even seemed to feel sorrow. “I warn you, though, if this pairing fails, it will disgrace our House.”

Mara wiped her tears away on the back of her hand. She hated the way her mother had the power to rouse such emotions in her. “Soon I won’t be in your House,” she muttered.

Ternees grimaced. “That, too, is your decision. But if you leave our clan, it will not be easy for you to come back.” She turned to the door—then hesitated. “One more thing: If your pairing fails, I will disown you, Mara. Do you understand that? If you break your bond with Kormor, I will tell our people that you are unfit to take my place as Chieftain, if I die and if Shani dies before you.”

She turned, then, and walked stiffly away.