CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  She did not fear them, sensing intuitively that the long-legged creatures meant her no harm. Her instincts also told her to watch them carefully. If they jumped suddenly in alarm, a predator could be near. But they were feeding peacefully, so she pulled herself painfully upright and ventured onto the plain.

  A triangle of verdant grasses stretched before her, framed on one side by the river, on the other by towering mountains, purple in the distance. Directly ahead, across the plain, were a series of low hills sprinkled with boulders. Toward these she headed, for she knew from her mother that boulders meant possible safety.

  She moved slowly, looking for tubers and other edibles as she walked, stopping often to rest. Once, she came across some termite mounds. As her mother had taught her, she poked a stick carefully into one of the nests. When she pulled it out again, it was covered with scurrying insects. She grimaced as they crawled up her fingers and tickled her lips, but she licked them up and ate them with relish.

  The sparkle of water caught her eye as she neared the hills at the edge of the plain. She approached it cautiously. The sucking mud she had encountered with her mother and the violence of the river had made her wary. But this water lay still and placid in its bowl-shaped depression, and grasses grew right up to its edge. Near its center was a large, flat rock. As she approached, a small, dark green creature she had never seen before jumped from the rock and plopped into the water. Ripples rose around the place where it had landed. Zena stared at them, waiting for the animal to reappear, but there was no further movement. Finally, satisfied that no danger was present, she knelt to drink.

  Shelter was foremost on her mind as her shadow lengthened. She went first to the boulders she had seen from the far side of the plain, but they were widely scattered and none had a suitable enclosure. She looked on all the other hillsides where there were rocks, but still found nothing. Discouraged and weary, she sat down to rest near the crest of a long ridge that ran along the eastern side of the pond.

  The shadow of a huge pair of wings darkened the ground in front of her, and she ducked into some bushes to escape detection. She was not fast enough. The shadow passed slowly across her body twice again. She could hear the rush of wings as the vulture swooped, turned, and swooped once more.

  Zena whimpered with terror. Vultures had always frightened her. Almost every day of her childhood, she had watched them yank savagely at carcasses bleeding into the dry earth, had felt her stomach turn at the scent of death and rot. The ugly, naked heads with the fearsome beaks that jabbed and tore at defenseless flesh, the piercing talons that grabbed any creature too weak to crawl away, were imprinted deeply in her memory. Now that she was alone, the images were more terrifying than ever.

  Another vulture swept down to look at her, then another. Panic drove Zena deep into the vine-entangled bushes. There was no space to stand, or even crawl, so she wriggled doggedly on her stomach along a vague track that became narrower and narrower until she could barely squeeze through. Frightened by the confining space, she tried to retreat, but the vines were thickly entwined above her and she could not turn. So she went on.

  Gradually, the ground rose under her belly, and the vine-covered dirt gave way to a surface of small rocks. They pressed against her bruised flesh, but at least the bushes were beginning to thin, so she could see what lay before her. Directly ahead was a narrow patch of bare ground, and beyond that rose a short, rocky cliff. A thick, overhanging ledge jutted out near the top of the cliff. Beneath it she saw a deep crevice, just wide enough for her to enter.

  Hesitantly, she stretched one arm into the blackness, to test its depth, then maneuvered the upper half of her thin frame into the hole. Powdery dust rose in thick swirls, and she sneezed violently. Immediately she was afraid, lest the vulture hear her and attack. But at the same time she hesitated to go farther. A sour odor she had not detected before emanated from the back of the cave. Sharp-toothed rodents or a nest of snakes, even a small hyena, might live there. In the darkness, she could not tell.

  Suddenly more fearful of an unknown danger than the vulture above, she began to back out. A sudden rush of wings startled her, and a shower of pebbles landed on her exposed legs. Zena peered up and saw the fierce bird settling its chunky body on the ledge just above her. It leaned toward her and stared, its black eyes unblinking.

  A scream rose in her throat, but the muscles contracted and only a gurgle emerged. Quickly, she squeezed her whole body into the cave-like space, drawing her legs close to her chest so the vulture could not reach them. Thick dust coated her throat, making her gasp and choke, and the sour smell grew so strong she could hardly breathe. Desperate, near hysteria, she shoved her shoulders against the constricting ledge, pressed her knees against the hard earth, trying to force more space. Over and over, she arched her back, pushed at the ground. Suddenly, to her astonishment, it gave way. Her mouth gaped open in surprise, and her arms lunged forward protectively. The earth under her body had dropped away, and she was falling....

  She landed with a thud on the dirt floor of another enclosure. For a moment she could see nothing, as dust swirled through the air. But it settled quickly this time, and she knew immediately that there was more light here, more space. The terrible blackness had given way to a murky gray glow that emanated from two narrow shafts of brilliance behind her head. Lingering motes of dust danced and shimmered in their beams. She stared at them, entranced, then terror and her aching body pulled her back into awareness.

  She lay perfectly still, alert and wary, but no sounds came to her, from the world outside or from the cave into which she had fallen. It was silent, almost odorless. Slowly, her panic subsided. There was no sign that any other animal lived here, and she was certain the vulture would not come though the dark space after her. For the moment at least, she was safe.

  Tired now almost beyond endurance, she began to mew softly to herself for comfort, as she had before. For a long time, she lay there, listening to her own small noises. Gradually, the deep well of loneliness that stayed always within her diminished, and she slept, relaxed and free of fear for the first time since her mother's death.

  ***************************

  Light filtered gently into the cave. Zena opened her eyes and frowned, momentarily puzzled by her surroundings. Then the memory of her fall returned, and she sat quickly. She was about two feet below the dark space where the earth had given way, on a hard-packed earthen floor that stretched for more than twice her length in every direction. She tried to stand, to explore the new space, but she bumped her head. She crawled instead, searching each corner of the refuge with her sensitive fingers. There were droppings, but they were very old and crumbled at her touch. She sniffed them delicately and then ignored them.

  Behind her, opposite the place where she had fallen, were the two openings through which light entered. One was only a crack, but the other was a long narrow passage, just big enough to accommodate her small body. Zena wriggled into it, pulling herself upward with her elbows. It led her to a gap in the cliff above. She scrambled out and studied the area, so she would be able to find this entrance again. Like the hole through which she had fallen, it was well concealed behind dark slabs of rock, and was almost impossible to spot from above. Both entrances were too narrow for a predator to use, but if a snake or smaller animal should threaten her, she had a second exit through which to escape. Few such refuges existed on the African savannah, but because the ground had given way beneath her, she had found a perfect one.

  Remembering the vulture, she listened carefully before she moved toward the ledge. No sounds disturbed her, so she clambered on top of the rocky outcropping and stared down at the scene below.

  The pond lay motionless, pale gray in the early morning light. All around it, luxuriant grasses and flowers swayed gently in the light breeze. Leafy, wide-crowned trees decorated the banks of the river to the north, and the ridge on which she stood was covered with bushes and vines, thickly clumped with berries. To her drought-accus
tomed eyes, the land looked infinitely welcoming, rich with potential food and water. She glanced behind her, as if to call her mother, urge her forward to appreciate the abundance below. Even after many days, the habit of constant communication was hard to break.

  A glimmer of brilliance caught her eye, distracting her from the sadness that had abruptly spoiled her pleasure in the scene. The ribbon of river had begun to glitter, its gray turned to sparkling silver. Then the sun rose over the ridge behind her and touched the dark bulk of the mountains to the south. She stared, entranced. The nearest peaks shimmered in pink and rosy orange; the others withdrew toward the horizon in a succession of sunlit mounds, each more richly colored than the one before.

  Another sight intruded, and she frowned. A thin plume of smoke rose lazily from a mountain with a bowl-like summit. The smoke seemed out of place, not quite right.

  A herd of antelopes, golden-haired in the sunlight, appeared between two low hills north of the pond and stepped gingerly down to the water. They were skittish; their delicate hoofs dug at the grasses, and they raised their heads continuously to sniff the air, so Zena stayed where she was, watching.

  Presently, the cause of their nervousness became apparent. A noisy band of pigs trotted past the ridge that had concealed them. Snorting and prancing, they proceeded toward the pond. Water flew into the air as they splashed in the shallows and slurped up great mouthfuls made muddy by their trampling hooves. When their thirst was quenched, they rolled vigorously in the mud, then jumped up, stiff-legged, to shake themselves.

  Zena did not move until the pigs had finished their raucous visit and headed back into the hills. Then she continued her exploration. Farther along the ledge, she found four spotted eggs in a nest made of thick twigs. Her memory of eggs was dim, but she knew at once they were good to eat. She was less certain about how to eat them. She bit into one, but the shell broke. Not wanting to lose the contents, she shoved the whole egg into her mouth. The liquid was delicious, but bits of shell caught in her throat when she tried to swallow. Sputtering helplessly, she spat the whole mess out onto the rocks. Then she picked out the larger pieces of shell with deft fingers and licked up the rest of the egg. Grit from the rocks accompanied it, but still the taste was wonderfully satisfying.

  She peered at the remaining eggs, considering whether to take them. A noisy pair of birds dissuaded her. Screeching furiously, they flapped their wings in her face and dived at her hunched shoulders. Zena wrapped her arms protectively around her head and fled downhill as their raucous complaints died away. The birds were not big enough to frighten her, but she did not want to provoke another attack. She would remember the eggs, though. Perhaps later she would return.

  Now she was thirsty. She had no desire to maneuver her way through the prickly bushes on her stomach again, so she searched for an easier way to get to the pond. Soon she came across a narrow path on the other side of her ledge. She followed it down and was quickly buried in thorny shrubs. They pressed in on her, but there was space to stand upright, so she continued. The track smelled strongly of an animal she could not identify. Nervously, she scanned the area ahead. If another creature came up toward her, escape would be difficult.

  She rounded a bend in the path and came face to face with a pair of horns. They were long and twisted, and rose straight up. The animal before her started violently. Bushes cracked sharply as it struggled to turn in the confined space. Another animal was behind it, and still another behind that one. All of them twisted around and ran back the way they had come, their hooves thudding on the packed earth of the trail. Shaking with the suddenness of the encounter, Zena crouched silently at the edge of the path, in case more animals came. But nothing happened, and after a while she continued on her way.

  The bushes ended abruptly. Immediately below her was the pond, still and sparkling. Many antelopes, and a small herd of the animals she had encountered on the path, grazed on its far side. They raised their heads and stared at her, then resumed their feeding. Reassured by their calm, she ran eagerly toward the water and knelt to drink.

  Splashing sounds near the center of the pond made her look up in alarm. Tiny creatures, slender and silvery in the sun, were leaping in and out of the water. Curious, she reached toward them, but they darted away. Then she saw a narrow gray shape swimming slowly past her hands. It was longer than the others, and its body swayed gracefully. She tried to grab it, but it slipped easily from her grasp. Frustrated, she bent lower and then gasped as water unexpectedly invaded her nostrils and sloshed up toward her eyes. She fell back in a heap, coughing and sputtering. The antelopes across the pond snorted and leaped away from the alien racket.

  Zena retreated, lest the water reach out at her again. She sat and stared at it for a long time. Ripples broke its surface occasionally, but it did not otherwise move, so she ventured close again and dared to thrust one foot, then the other, into the soft mud below the water. Her toes promptly disappeared, but when she pulled them up, they were still there. She waded farther. The air had become blisteringly hot as the sun rose to the top of the sky, and the coolness on her scratched skin was wonderfully soothing.

  A trio of tiny yellow birds swam past her, peeping loudly. Zena laughed as they ducked beneath the water, tails pointed high in the air, then emerged with weeds trailing from their pink bills. She scooped beneath the surface to see what they were eating, but the sodden plants she brought up were bitter to her taste. She dug deeper, into the soft silt near the edge of the pond, carefully keeping her face away from the water. Her probing fingers found clumps of snails, a few wriggling tadpoles, and some long, trailing plants with delicious white bulbs.

  The tiny silver fish she had seen leaping around the rock were everywhere; they darted away, disappearing beneath the silt, each time she moved, so she stood perfectly still. Immediately, the fish began to nibble gently at her ankles, making her jump. The nibbling stopped, but began again as soon as she was still. Her hand flashed through the water, grabbed a tiny fish, and brought it up to her mouth in a single gesture. Smacking her lips appreciatively, she chewed the delicacy. Three or four more times, she repeated this tactic. Then, satisfied, she headed toward her cave.

  The eggs were still in the nest; she passed on, leaving them undisturbed. She was well fed already and had no need of more. Sighing with contentment, she curled up to rest on the ledge. Even when the vulture circled near her, she barely moved. Now that she could duck into a secure hiding place in moments, it no longer frightened her. Only later, when darkness had descended and an animal howled plaintively from the hillside, did her newfound serenity waver. Though the shock of her mother's death, the horror of the tiger's attack, were beginning to fade, the longing to feel, to hear and smell another like herself was strong. But there was no one.

  CHAPTER THREE

  An agonized scream woke Zena. The sound sent shivers up her spine. Before, the tiger's growl had triggered her memory; now the scream itself forced her to remember the time when a member of her troop had been killed by one of the big cats. Shuddering, she listened for more screams, but there was only silence.

  For a long time, she lay unmoving, ears and eyes alert. A different sound pulled her into a wary crouch. Barely audible, the scrabbling noise came from the ridge outside. Automatically, she reached for a stone and clutched it in her fist.

  A new sound, a thin mewing, joined the first. Zena frowned, confused. This, too, was familiar. It was as if she were hearing herself, when her mother had disappeared beneath the rushing water. Almost a year had passed since that time, but she still remembered.

  She hesitated, uncertain how to respond. Then the mewing rose into a cry of fear, and she acted without thought. Pushing herself out, she ran toward the sound. Shivers coursed through her again. The scent that reached her had been imprinted on her brain when she was a suckling infant, had been reinforced when her brother was born. Prompted by an impulse deeper than memory, she gently touched her breast.

  Another odor invaded her
nostrils, and this time she knew it immediately. It was blood, fresh blood.

  Cautious now, she crept toward the smell, but it was quickly obscured by the scent of dampness and trampled leaves that rose as she moved. She strained to see, but the sun still hid below the horizon, and everything around her was shadowy and indistinct. She might have missed the still form had the little creature not moaned. The sound drew her forward, and then she saw it. A small body, a miniature of her own, lay motionless on the hard ground, its arms out-flung.

  She stared, waiting for it to move or make some further sound. Its eyes were closed, and its mouth hung open to reveal toothless gums behind lips just like hers. Like herself, it was hairless except for a dark thatch on its head, but unlike her, it had a small protuberance at its groin. Zena's memory stirred; her baby brother had looked like that. She crept closer, but jumped back in alarm when the little body twitched violently. Then it was still again.

  An unfamiliar feeling enveloped Zena as she continued to stare, a feeling that grew stronger when the small male slowly turned, his mouth twitching in pain. Now she could see why he smelled of blood. A long gash had been torn in his back, as if a claw had ripped it. Instinctively, she knelt down and began to lick the wound with long, slow swipes of her tongue. The infant whimpered and turned, raising his arms toward her. She drew back, alarmed. But his hands only flicked gently at her face, then grasped at the matted hair that framed it. She tried to pull away, but the clutching fingers had wound themselves tightly and she could not free herself. To stop the pulling, she picked the baby up and hugged him gently. He gave a deep sigh, and his fingers released her.

  Zena stood with him in her arms. His weight and the heat of his body against her chest felt strange, yet somehow normal. Wonderingly, she passed a hand across the small form, so like her own except for the odd little bump between its legs. Tears formed unexpectedly in her eyes. To hold this wounded creature close and comfort him was intensely satisfying. After all the months of being alone, he made her feel complete, as if an aching void inside her had finally been filled. Gently, she pressed her lips against his rounded cheek.