Zena turned and forced her eyes up to the highest cliffs. To find a Kyrie, she must go up there. She did not want to, but she must.
Tomorrow, she would begin the search.
****************
Katalin kicked miserably at the ground. She was certain now that a new life was forming inside her, and she did not know what to do. Except she did, in a way. The idea of using the herbs, not having the baby, seemed impossible now that she knew it was really there, growing. Probably she should tell someone, Borg perhaps, since he was the one who had helped to create the new life, or maybe Marita.
She shook her head emphatically. She did not want to tell anyone except her mother, and she could not find her mother until they crossed the river, and she could not cross the river until it was smaller. Many months could pass before that happened. Perhaps it would never happen!
A sound made her look up sharply. Her face hardened when she saw Borg coming to look for her.
To her surprise, Borg said nothing, only sat down beside her. A long time passed in silence, and Katalin became uncomfortably aware of his nearness. To her dismay, desire began to rise up within her; angrily, she pushed the feeling away.
Finally Borg spoke. "You are unhappy, Katalin. It hurts me to see you so unhappy and I would like to help."
Katalin suppressed the curt response that sprang to her tongue, that she did not want his help.
"I wish we could cross the river," she mumbled instead.
"This I cannot do for you, Katalin," Borg replied. But perhaps you could tell me more of what troubles you."
He sighed. "Once, I had a mate I could speak to like this, but she is gone. I cared very much for that mate."
Katalin looked up, surprised. "I did not know you had a mate, one you cared for."
Borg took her hand and caressed it. "I could care for you in the same way, Katalin, if you would let me."
Katalin drew back her hand, confused by the tender gesture. This was a different Borg, and she did not know what to say to him.
Sighing again, Borg rose. "I must go now and check the snares I have set. Our food is almost gone." Borg was skilled at catching small animals in traps, and they seldom lacked for meat.
Katalin watched as he trudged off, his shoulders heavy with discouragement. She felt ashamed, though she did not know why. After all, Borg had taken her by force. He was the one who should feel ashamed, not her. Perhaps, though, he had truly changed, and would be able to abide by the rules of Akat.
Soon, she told herself, she must make up her mind about Borg. The others wanted her to accept him as a mate, and probably they were right. Besides, though she hated to admit it, the attraction she felt for him was growing stronger. His nearness a few moments ago had made that clear.
Abruptly, Katalin made up her mind. She would do it. As soon as she had found a mating place, she would take Borg there. The women of her tribe always selected a special place for Akat when they were old enough. No one else was supposed to go there, so affairs could be kept completely private. She would do the same here, Katalin decided. Already, she had seen a small clearing in the woods that might be good. It was thickly carpeted with moss and surrounded by bushes and trees, so no one could peer in, as children especially liked to do.
Excited now at the prospect of Akat, she darted into the trees and quickly found the little glen again. The moss was damp, but at least it would be comfortable. Katalin removed a few rocks and branches that were right in the middle where they would lie down, then went quickly back to the clearing to look for Borg.
She found him by the river, dressing a rabbit he had caught. With quick gestures, he slit the skin and pulled the fur away, then cut the meat into chunks to be roasted later in the fire. His muscular body gleamed in the sunlight as he worked, and Katalin felt excitement mount inside her. Still, she hesitated before she approached him, surprised to realize that she was embarrassed. The feeling was strange to her. Usually, there was no embarrassment in inviting a man to have Akat.
Perhaps, she reflected, she felt that way because Borg was not accustomed to a woman being in charge of mating. Also, he probably had no idea of the various kinds of Akat available to them, and she would have to teach him. Men from other tribes often knew only of plain Akat, mating just for the sake of mating, or Akate, lustful mating, which was usually very fast. They were less satisfying, especially for women. Akato was more fun, because it was playful and involved much laughter; Akatelo, sensual and slow, was even better. Then there was Akatale, very tender mating, and Akatalelo, which was spiritual and close to the Mother. Few people experienced that one, at least not often.
Katalin decided she had better not expect too much of Borg. He had not been as rough as she had feared when he had forced himself on her but she still doubted he knew much of Akat. She would have to be patient.
The thought gave her courage, and she walked slowly up to him. He had finished the rabbit and was bending over the river, washing his hands.
"Will you come?" she asked, reaching for his wet hand. Borg rose and looked carefully into her eyes. Then he nodded, seeming to understand her purpose without words. Katalin led him to the secluded glen and drew him down beside her on the moss. Speaking slowly, so he would understand, she began to explain the various types of Akat, but Borg only placed a finger gently on her lips, to stop her words. His eyes rested for a long moment on her face, then he kissed her, very lightly, so that her mouth trembled for more, and began to caress her with expert hands. Sighing, Katalin abandoned herself to the pleasure of his touch. This was not going to be so difficult after all.
Slowly, carefully, as if he were memorizing her body, Borg continued to stroke her. His fingers found every curve, every opening, every sensitive spot. Katalin groaned in delight. Her hands rose to match his; for a long time, they barely moved, except for their hands. Desire rose heavily in Katalin, reached a feverish pitch; she knew Borg was the same, but still he delayed. His eyes were intent on her face as he murmured words; she did not hear them, was aware only of the passion that kept building and building until she thought she would scream with its urgency. Then, very slowly, more slowly than she could bear, he came inside her. She clung to him; almost immediately the ecstasy rose inside her and shattered, then rose and shattered again. When she was still once more, Borg let himself go. Over and over he plunged into her, and then she felt the shuddering passion overwhelm him and the warm juices come flooding into her body. She held him close as heat filled her again, this time dissipating with a soft, fluttering sensation of warmth and comfort.
Still clinging to each other, they crumpled against the ground. A long time passed before they moved. Finally, Borg propped himself up and stroked her face. "My Katalin," he said softly. "My beautiful Katalin."
Katalin looked into his eyes and saw an expression that startled her. There was no triumph, as when he had first taken her, or even satisfaction, only tenderness, an almost unbearable tenderness that made her drop her gaze. He truly cared for her, she realized. She had known that he desired her, but caring was different. It was the way Rofal and Sarila had always been, as if no others counted.
"You gave me much pleasure," she told him sincerely. "I am happy I brought you here." The words seemed wrong somehow, not enough, but she did not know what else to say.
"I, too," Borg agreed, and wrapped her in his big arms. He felt almost dizzy with joy. To know Katalin in this way, after all the waiting, was better - far better - than he could have imagined. Even more exhilarating was the knowledge that Katalin had finally accepted him as her mate.
His mood changed suddenly, and he grinned at her, ready to start again. This time his approach was as playful as Katalin could have wished. He tickled her; then rolled her over and over until she was covered with moss and twigs. Laughing, she pulled away and pretended to wrestle with him until finally their desire was too strong to deny and she held him close once more as their bodies shook with passion.
"Now we must always be toget
her," Borg murmured softly in her ear. "And one day, I will take you to meet my tribe. That will be an adventure, will it not, my Katalin?"
Katalin frowned. She was not sure she wanted to meet Borg's tribe. Besides, now that the infant was coming, she did not wish to travel anywhere, at least until the baby was old enough. The thought of telling Borg about the little one flashed into her mind again, but she dismissed it quickly. First, she must find her mother. Mothers should always be the first to know.
"Perhaps one day," she answered finally, not wanting to hurt Borg's feelings. "But now I wish to find the others in my tribe, and I cannot think of going to other places."
"Of course," Borg replied, contrite. "This I understand. I can be patient, now that we are mated. But one day," he prodded gently, "it will be necessary. A woman always comes to the man's tribe when they are mated. Surely, that is true of the Mother People also?"
"No, it is not," Katalin said, and sharpness crept into her voice. "Here a woman stays with her own tribe always."
Borg had a strange way of saying things, she reflected. How could a woman be expected to go to the tribe of every man with whom she mated? Still, her answer had not been entirely true. Sometimes a woman did leave her tribe, if there were not enough mates in the area where she lived. She, however, had no intention of doing such a thing. There would be plenty of mates for her when they found the rest of the tribe. Soon Torlan would be old enough as well, though she had never really thought of him as a mate. She was not sure why.
Borg looked puzzled. "But how is that possible? Does a man go to the woman's tribe instead?"
"Sometimes that is so," Katalin answered. "I would prefer to stay with my own tribe always," she added stubbornly.
Borg started to object but then kept silent. It would take time for Katalin to understand, he realized, and he could wait. To know that she had accepted him was enough for now.
CHAPTER SIX
Zena stared at the creature before her. A wolf; it was a beautiful half-grown wolf, with a dark glossy coat. The wolf stared back with dark, impenetrable eyes that seemed suddenly to soften, as if it had recognized her. She did not move, only sat there in perfect stillness.
The wolf took a step closer to her, its nose quivering at her strange scent. Stretching out its muzzle, it almost touched her hand, then turned abruptly and ran off a few steps. It seemed to be waiting, Zena thought. Would it disappear if she followed? She did not want it to leave, so she sat still, glad to rest after the grueling climb. She had been dizzy many times, but each time she had simply waited until the feeling went away, then gone a little higher. In this way, she had finally come to the top. Here, the ground was level and all fear had left her.
The wolf turned its head to look at her, then it went on for a few more steps and stopped again. Perhaps it did want her to come. Zena rose and walked toward it. This time, the wolf trotted ahead of her without looking back. Zena followed.
It led her to a big, bowl-shaped hollow enclosed on three sides by concave walls of rock. The fourth side was more open and did not rise as high. A small waterfall cascaded down one wall, its sound heightened by the enclosure, and fell into a stream that wound its way through the verdant floor of the hollow. Clumps of yellow and white flowers grew in abundance among the grasses, and moist floral scents rose up as Zena's feet pressed against them.
The wolf disappeared. Zena blinked in surprise. Then she realized that the animal had squeezed into a den dug under a ledge on one side of the hollow. Surely, the wolf did not expect her to follow it there?
She waited, and after a time the wolf re-emerged. Yawning widely, it settled itself comfortably in front of the den, facing the open side of the hollow. Zena followed its eyes. There was a large, flat rock up there, she saw. It would be a good place to sit while she decided what to do next. Slowly, so she would not disturb the wolf, she made her way up the gentle slope. When she reached the top, she gasped. The whole valley was spread out before her; she saw the river, the woods through which they had traveled, and far in the distance were places she had never seen.
She sat down abruptly, suddenly tired beyond belief. This was her Kyrie; she was sure it was, but now that she had found it she was too weary even to think. She forced herself to look out once again at the scene below her; then she gave into her fatigue and stretched out on a patch of moss warmed by the sun. Her eyes closed and she slept.
The wolf padded up to sit nearby. Its eyes closed, too, but they opened again warily at every sound, every movement. Unaware of its presence, Zena slept as peacefully as she had when she was a small child and her mother had lain beside her, ready to soothe her with her soft voice, her caressing hands, at any disturbance. For hours, she did not move. The wolf sat beside her, its long muzzle resting on its paws, its eyes and ears alert.
Across the hollow, Torlan also watched. The wolf knew he was there, but Torlan was as still and silent as another animal, and the wolf was not disturbed. Slowly, the dark came down. With the dark came the dreams, slow dreams that moved through Zena's mind as gently as the passage of wind through the trees in summer. Mists rose before her eyes. They floated just above the ground, filmy strands of whiteness that cut the trees in half. The massive trunks stood straight and dark, but the leafy crowns were hidden in swirling cloud. Between the trunks were people, gathering nuts from the ground. A deer bounded past, splashed noisily into water that stretched as far as Zena could see, then veered into the woods again and disappeared. Strangely, the water disappeared as well, as if it had never been there at all.
Zena sighed, watching. The dream speeded, became more distinct. Now there was sunlight and motion. She was standing among the trees and around her on all sides was water, water that rolled toward the land in huge, curving movements, as if it would pour across the earth and never stop. But it did stop; she saw it spill the roiling liquid and then retreat, even as more water came rolling in. Over and over the pattern repeated itself, and then the mist returned and she could see no more. Instead, she could only feel this place that she had seen, and in the feeling was such peace that tears came to her eyes, even in sleep.
The peace did not last, for the water had risen now, was charging across the land in massive, tearing movements. Trees, boulders, plants, were pulled from their places and sent careening into the floods. The earth was scoured, down and down and down, revealing mountains that stood up starkly where once there had only been meadows. Slowly, the water retreated once more, leaving the mountains to tower over the land. They were sober, brooding, and Zena felt them like weights against her eyelids. But then she saw the water come again, bringing piles of earth and stones and dirt to fill the massive gaps it had created and scour the high peaks. Soon, all that remained of the mountains were a few tall stones that penetrated the ground like trees. Straight and proud, worn into smoothness by the water, they seemed to hold within them all the grandeur of the buried mountains.
Again, the water retreated, and then it reverted to the long rolling swells she had seen before. In and out they came; Zena watched, mesmerized by the unfolding movements. The peace washed over her once more, and the mists. Now all she could see were the tall stones, standing grey and straight against the horizon. Strangely, they seemed to be more than stones now; they were people as well, wise ones, she thought, as if the spirits of all the wise women who had gone before had entered the stones and lodged there.
The scene expanded suddenly as the sun reached the horizon. Slivers of dazzling light shone obliquely through the moist air and touched the stones, punctuating their grayness with pink. Slowly, the mists lifted. Zena felt herself lifted with them, supported by the coalescing clouds, until she hung suspended, like a bird poised over the earth. Her body was weightless, made soft and pliant by the thin strands of cloud that caressed her. There was joy in the sensation, and she wished never to come down again.
Movement below distracted her. She saw the stones, almost white now in the brilliant light, and then she saw the people, more peop
le than she had ever seen before. From all directions they came, their steps purposeful, unhurried, as they converged on the meadow that held the stones. When all had arrived, one person stepped ahead of the others, another stood behind, then another and another, until all of them were arranged in a long, curving line. Again, they moved, their steps so slow and steady that from above the motion was invisible, as if they were not separate but joined together like a smooth-skinned snake. Slowly, the procession wound its way around and between the stones in an intricate, graceful pattern. Over and over the pattern was repeated; then, in a long, rippling movement, the people formed a huge circle around the standing stones. Their hands were clasped before them in a gesture of respect, and there was reverence in all their faces.
When Zena woke at dawn, the stones were still in her mind, and the people. She heard her mother's voice again: "It is to you, my daughter, that the Goddess has entrusted the task of finding our new home, one where all the Mother People can gather in peace. Only when we can come together in this way can we keep the ways of the Mother alive in the years to come."
She closed her eyes again, absorbing the grandeur of the scene that had come to her. Never had she felt such a strong sense of sacredness, as if all that was magnificent in the Mother's world had been pulled into the place with the standing stones, the place that would one day be their home.
For a long time she did not move, then a sudden realization brought her quickly to her feet. She had stayed all night in her Kyrie! The others must be worried. She had better hurry down to tell them she was all right.
She stretched, shivering in the cool morning air. The night must have been even colder. How had she kept warm? Looking down, she saw a depression in the moss beside the place where she had slept. Had the wolf stayed there and warmed her with its body? She knelt and sniffed the grass. It had been there; she was certain it had, but there was no sign of it now.
CIRCLES IN THE SKY (The Mother People Series Book 2) Page 10