CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  She did not want to leave him again, even for a moment, so she carried him carefully into the cave. There she licked the wound until blood no longer oozed from it. The gash was not so deep, she saw, now that the dirt and blood had been cleaned away. When she had finished, the little one nestled his head at her neck and slept.

  Hunger roused her after a few hours. Gently, she slid away from the sleeping baby, trying get up without rousing him. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at her with a startled expression. The round, dark eyes were huge in his tiny face. Then he yawned, a wide stretching yawn, and began to whimper. The whimpering quickly accelerated into screams. Zena shifted his weight on her arm, uncertain what she should do. Abruptly, the howls stopped as the little male turned his face toward her chest and began to root around with his mouth, seeking her nipple. He sucked eagerly for a few moments. But when no sustenance came, he uttered a loud and furious screech.

  Baffled, Zena set him down. Her action only intensified his screams. Still howling, he tried to walk back to her but his legs would not hold him and he plopped onto his rump. He held up his arms to her, and a look of desperation came over his face. Zena knelt quickly and folded him into her arms, murmuring soothing noises. When his sobs finally ceased, she maneuvered them through the dusty space onto the ledge to look for food. The baby sneezed, and looked at her in grave surprise.

  Bushes with ripening red berries grew a short way up the hill. Zena plucked some and thrust them into the infant's mouth, but he only sputtered and began to whimper again. She chewed slowly on a handful she had picked for herself. The little male held up his face, mouth pursed, and stared piercingly into her eyes. Zena stared back, then, prompted by a memory of her mother with her baby brother, she placed her mouth against his and transferred some of the well-chewed berries. He swallowed and held up his face for more. Over and over, they repeated this procedure. Then the small body relaxed against her chest, and the round dark eyes closed again.

  Zena's shoulders began to sag under the unaccustomed weight. She carried the baby back to the cave, doubly grateful now for its security, and laid him in a pile of dry grasses she used for sleeping. Then she hurried down to the pond. The little one had eaten most of the berries, and she was still hungry.

  The area was deserted except for some small birds that stalked around on skinny legs, peeping frantically whenever she came close. Ignoring them, she pulled up a bunch of the trailing plants to feast on their soft bulbs. She had eaten only a few when a loud screech emanated from the direction of the cave. She jumped up, still clutching the bulbs, and ran back the way she had come.

  When she entered the cave, the little male stopped wailing immediately. He crawled toward her, his face expectant, and reached for the bulbs in her hands. He pulled at the long stems, but did not eat. But as soon as she began to chew some herself, he pursed his lips toward her face. She pushed some into his mouth; he swallowed quickly and held up his face for more. She tried feeding him some tubers as well, but they took too long to chew and he became impatient, so she returned to the bulbs.

  After a time, she turned away, weary of the procedure. The youngster popped a bulb in his mouth and sucked at it. Grabbing another, he fingered it carefully. Then he began to crawl around the cave. One long stem trailed from his mouth, another from his fingers. Several times, he tried to stand, but each time he plopped back onto his rump. Then he spat out the bulb, crawled into Zena's lap, and slept again.

  She watched him, bemused. The little creature had dropped into her life from a place of which she had no knowledge, for reasons she could not fathom. Yet already he seemed a part of her. There was no strangeness to him, only familiarity. Her eyes became dreamy as images of her mother and baby brother appeared. She straightened abruptly, remembering the scream of the night before. It must have been another one, another mother, she had heard.

  Frowning, she examined the gash on the baby's back. An image of the great cat came unbidden into her head. She saw again the tearing claws that had scratched the floor of her refuge as she huddled there after her mother's death. A claw had made that gash. The claws and the fearsome teeth had killed the mother. And that meant the great cat was still out there somewhere, feasting on its kill...

  Zena wrapped her arms protectively around the little male. He awoke at her sudden touch and emitted a thin screech. Then, feeling himself secure in her arms, he sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. She smiled, amused. He made that noise all the time, when he was unhappy or hungry. She tickled him gently; he screeched again and stared at her crossly. Once again, she tickled; again, he screeched. She left him alone to sleep. But after that, each time she thought of the small creature who had come to her so unexpectedly, she thought of the screech too. In her mind, she called him Screech.

  **************************

  For a few weeks, while Screech recovered from his wound, Zena repeated the process of running to the pond while he slept, gathering food for both of them, and returning with her bounty. But one day, he refused to be left behind. He grabbed her legs as she entered the passage that led out of the cave, making small sounds of distress. She kicked him away gently, but he scrambled after her, so she turned and held out her arms. He clambered into them, chortling. His black eyes were lively. Zena rubbed her nose against his; he threw back his head, open-mouthed with delight and then pushed his face against hers again, to repeat the game. She obliged, her own eyes merry. Pleasure welled up in her throat, and she hugged Screech close. His wriggling body was wonderfully comforting against her own.

  He struggled away, wanting to play again. She set him down, reluctantly this time. To her surprise, he landed on his feet. For a moment, he rocked back and forth as if he would fall, then he took a few tottering steps. Grinning, she clapped her hands together. Screech imitated, his small face split in a beaming smile. Again, he tottered forward, frowning in concentration. When he reached her, he wound his arms around her neck and would not let go. Abandoning the idea of leaving him behind, Zena carried him out of the cave. Together, they ventured into the brilliant sunlight.

  The antelopes were feeding quietly. That meant no predators were lurking, so Zena tucked Screech firmly against her hip and made her way down through the thick bushes. Settling him on the grass, she went to drink. He crawled after her at a furious pace, and when she looked around, he was at the edge of the pond staring into the water. He leaned over and slapped it with one hand. The noise startled him, and he backed quickly away. Zena took a large mouthful of water and put her face close to his. When he opened his mouth expectantly, she squirted the water into it. Screech's eyes opened wide in surprise at the coolness. He forgot to swallow and choked instead. Water dribbled down his chin, his chest, and poured out of his eyes. But he recovered quickly and held up his face for more.

  All day they stayed there together. Screech imitated Zena's every move, digging into the earth with grubby hands as she searched for tubers, pulling again and again at deep purple berries that had ripened on bushes near the water. Soon his hands and face were stained scarlet with their juice. Zena took him to the edge of the pond to wash him. A big green frog jumped into the water with a loud plop. Screech stared, then struggled from her arms to chase the frog. He tumbled into the pond, landing unharmed on his rump. Startled, he looked up at Zena for reassurance, but the novelty of being in the pond quickly distracted him. Trailing his hands through the cool water, he watched them emerge tangled in weeds. Carefully, one at a time, he plucked the slimy plants from his fingers.

  Zena let him play for a while, then she picked him up and headed for the cave. The sun had almost reached the western horizon, and the heat had gone from the day. These were the hours when predators stalked. She glanced up at the ledge. Its contours softened by the setting sun, the area around her shelter looked infinitely welcoming. Rocks, grasses, and bushes blended together in a soft palette of pinks and gold, and all the area to the west was steeped in dusky luminescence.

  Screech was already
asleep on her shoulder. She lowered him gently into the nest of grasses. Instantly he woke and scrambled back into her arms, whimpering. Zena lay down beside him so they would not have to be apart. As they had each night since he had come, they slept with their arms entwined, their breathing light and steady against each other's cheeks.

  The next morning when they left the cave, Screech pointed insistently at the red berries she had fed him that first day. Zena gave him some from her mouth, then he tried eating them by himself. They were fully ripe now and not so hard to chew. Slowly, they made their way up to the top of the ridge, following the bushes. Zena had not been this way before. Always, she had gone toward the pond, with its abundant food.

  She peered curiously down the other side. Below her lay a deep, narrow valley, thickly dotted with trees. The ridge wound south toward the mountains, enclosing the valley on one side, then dropped sharply into a deep ravine that bordered the other side of the valley. Beyond the ravine, the land rose gradually toward a huge green plateau. Many animals, tiny in the distance, grazed in its lush meadows.

  A movement directly below her caught her eye, and she gasped. A long tail, tipped with white, had flicked briefly above a clump of grass. Abruptly, the herd of antelopes feeding nearby became skittish. Their heads tossed nervously and their hooves beat a fragile tattoo on the grass. Zena stiffened. It was a sound for which she always listened, though she was seldom conscious of her impulse.

  Mesmerized, she watched as the grasses parted and a leopard emerged. Tension marked every line of its lean body, and its powerful square jaws were clenched in concentration. Staring fixedly at the antelopes, it began to slink forward, its belly low to the ground. Some were already fleeing, but one was slower than the others. Toward this one the leopard aimed its hurtling body. Nothing could stop it now. Every muscle, every sinew had been instantly intoxicated by the chase, the lightning rush toward its intended victim, the long, ground-covering strides that followed, the ultimate, deadly spring. Swerving desperately, the terrified antelope pounded away. The leopard swooped after it, its tawny body no more than a blur against the ground. Both disappeared behind the curve of a hill.

  Pent-up breath whooshed out of Zena's lungs. Unable to tear herself from the scene, she waited. Soon, the leopard reappeared, dragging the lifeless antelope. Hauling its victim into a tree, it settled down to feed.

  Zena stared down at the scar on Screech's back. The scream had come from here, from the ridge. It must have been the leopard, not a tiger, which had made the mark, taken the mother. Shuddering, she led Screech the other way, to the familiar pond, glad that the leopard did not hunt here. Still, the incident made her nervous, and for many nights her sleep was fraught with dreams, as it had been after her mother's death. Leopards and tigers stalked Screech over and over again, and she could not help, for her legs would not move at her command. The dreams commanded them instead, and they twitched constantly even as paralysis seemed to seize them.

  After that, she saw the leopard occasionally, but it never came near the pond. Slowly, her nervousness diminished, though she continued to avoid the area behind the ridge. She found another place with red berries, and when Screech wanted some, she took him there. Soon, he could chew them for himself, for strong teeth had pushed through his gums. His steps became steady as well, and as the months passed, he learned to run so fast Zena could barely keep up with him. He loved to chase her, or run away from her, and stopped only if she called to him in a certain way. She used many types of hoots and calls to tell him what food she had found or animal she had seen, if he should run or hide when danger threatened. Some she remembered from her mother; others, they created as they were needed. Once she had used a certain sound, both she and Screech remembered it and used it again in the same way. Soon, he was as adept at using them as she was. He copied everything she did too. He learned to sniff the air for scents and survey the area before they ventured down to the pond, to listen for the sounds of danger. His hands grew ever more adept at digging for bulbs and tubers, at catching tadpoles and frogs or small fish.

  Everywhere, food abounded. Berries covered the bushes, and the trees by the river produced wondrous bunches of fruit and nuts. Grains ripened in the fields, melons and tubers proliferated, and birds laid multiple clutches of eggs. Screech delighted in chasing the disgruntled parents from their nests with loud shouts, while Zena grabbed an egg or two. The others she left for the watching birds to hatch.

  Sometimes Screech tried to catch young animals as well, but Zena always stopped him. There was no need now for flesh to supplement their diet, and it seemed wrong to take a creature they did not mean to eat. Instead, they watched in delight as the tiny antelope or zebra he had found pranced after its mother on wobbly legs. Once, they saw a baby giraffe drop from its mother's rump, then struggle to its feet and follow her, stiff-legged, to the pond. Spreading her legs clumsily, she lowered her head to the water and drank as the calf suckled beneath her belly. Elephants often trumpeted through the valley, the babies clustered under the knees of the adults. Their trunks ripped steadily at trees and bushes to satisfy their insatiable appetites as they plodded along. Zena and Screech did not go too close to the massive creatures, but they watched in fascination as the elephants wallowed in the pond and sprayed themselves with their long trunks. For days after their visits, the pond stayed brown and opaque.

  All that was missing from their lives were others like themselves. With Screech nearby, Zena was no longer lonely, but she still felt strangely empty sometimes. Thirteen years had passed now since her birth, and she was three and a half feet tall, as tall as her mother had been. A thatch of dark hair had appeared at her groin, and the flatness of her bony chest had been disrupted by the slow swelling of breasts. She touched them sometimes, and vague sensations stirred inside her, as if she should have or do something she could not imagine. Often the yearning came upon her when she ventured near the top of the ridge. Smells came to her nostrils sometimes from the valley below, caught briefly when the wind was right. They aroused memories of her troop, of her mother and little brother. It was from this place that she had heard the scream of another of her kind...

  But she dared not venture down the far side of the ridge. That was leopard territory.

  ***************************

  One morning, feeling restless and uneasy, Zena loped down to the pond. Huge clouds scudded across the sky, for the season of rain was almost upon them. Screech dashed ahead of her to drink, then he started up the opposite hillside to search for fruit, his favorite food. It was scarce now. For months, creatures large and small had feasted on the succulent harvest, but soon there would be no more until the cycle began anew, after the rains.

  Zena did not join him but stayed by the pond, chewing listlessly on some bulbs while she watched a group of ducklings follow their mother into the water. Every year, they emerged from nests around the pond to entertain her with their antics. But this time, her laughter turned to a cry of distress when she saw one duckling disappear in a roil of muddy water. Moments later, a turtle's head broke the surface of the pond. Jaws agape, it snapped at another duckling. But this one escaped into the weeds while its mother hissed angrily at the turtle.

  Screech called from the trees, to let her know he had found fruit. Zena answered him and rose to her feet. Another call, a low hooting sound, reached her ears. She stiffened; the call was unfamiliar, and it had come from the rocks behind her refuge, not from the trees. She stared at the ridge, but saw nothing, so she started up the hill to join Screech. Again, she heard the unfamiliar call. She whirled, and this time she saw movement. A young male, much larger than Screech, emerged from the thick bushes. Alarmed, Zena uttered a shrill cry. Screech rushed toward her, but when he spotted the strange male, he stopped abruptly. The intruder stalked slowly toward Zena, making soft guttural noises in his throat.

  Zena stood still. She had no impulse to flee, though she did not know why. Instead, she stood her ground as the young male came close a
nd sniffed her. He tried to mount her, and she snapped at him angrily. He retreated, startled. She ambled back toward the pond, ignoring him. He followed eagerly, though he cringed whenever she turned to look at him. He paid no attention to Screech, and after a few moments, Screech wandered back toward the fruit trees.

  Zena led the male to the pond and sat down on its grassy banks. Perching beside her, he stared into her face. When she did not return his gaze, he pulled up some juicy plants and handed them to her. She accepted them, but she still refused to look into his eyes. He sat patiently, watching every movement she made. When she rose, he followed; when she ate or drank, he did the same. All that day, he watched her and followed her, but in the late afternoon he climbed up the ridge again and disappeared. Zena felt an unexpected pang of regret and her sleep that night was disturbed by the feeling of emptiness that had plagued her so often in recent months. It twisted inside her, almost as if she had not eaten, but she was not hungry.

  The next morning, the male was back. This time Zena's treatment of him was less reserved, and after he had come four days in a row, she greeted him with enthusiasm. She enjoyed the attention he gave her, and his presence seemed to assuage at least some of the strange emptiness she felt. Each time he came, he brought a choice piece of food for her to eat, extending it to her with a series of guttural grunts. The grunts sounded like "dak, dak," and soon Zena began to think of him as Dak.

  Screech was less enthusiastic about the young male's visits. Whenever Dak appeared, he ran to the fruit trees, or wandered off to sit by himself on the hillside, his face forlorn. He wanted Zena to pay attention to him, not to the strange male. Zena sensed his distress, but for the first time since they had been together, she ignored it. She needed to be with Dak, and Screech would have to wait.