CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  Numb with grief and weariness, she crouched against a blackened stump to rest. Her eyes closed involuntarily, then opened again in surprise as the infant woke and pulled eagerly at her breast. In her searching, she had almost forgotten her tiny daughter.

  The baby's suckling reminded her that she was hungry. But the unforgiving landscape did not offer much hope of food. She could see no greenness, no sign of life anywhere around her. Heat and wind had blasted the leaves from the trees; fire had left the earth bereft of plants and bushes. The smell of scorched wood and damp soot was overwhelming.

  Zena shuddered. How could she survive in such a place? No warmth came from the sun. No berries grew; there was no pond with bulbs, no fields with tubers to dig. None of these things were here. Perhaps they did not exist anywhere now. She had seen them burning below her.

  She sat up suddenly. Perhaps the pond, at least, was still there. She could go back. Maybe Screech had gone back when he could not find her.

  The image of Screech waiting at the pond gave her courage, and a purpose. Determinedly, she clambered up a large boulder near the top of the hill that commanded a good view of the area. Twice, she fell back, for the rock was slick with soot. But she kept trying, driven by an overwhelming need to see if the place that had sheltered her for so long might offer refuge once again, if Screech could possibly be there.

  The sight that greeted her was devastating. Lava, black and lifeless, stretched as far as she could see in every direction. Nothing moved on all that vast space, except steam rising from the hardening rock. The lava had poured into the long valley below her refuge, obliterating every sign of the abundance that had once flourished there, had spewed up the hills and through the passages between them, had even spread beyond the deep ravine that lay between her and the high plateau she had seen when she had climbed to the top of the ridge with Screech.

  Zena's body slumped in utter desolation. She could not go back, and Screech would not be at the pond. There was no pond. Only a small, ash-filled puddle remained in the spot where it had once glittered in the sunlight. There were no grasses, no bushes, no life at all. Even the trees by the river had gone, instantly cremated by the fiery flow.

  She could look no longer. Sobs shook her body, and cold fear gripped her heart. Flames still leaped from the volcano, and she could hear it rumbling. The menace could come again, the burning arcs across the sky, the fires, the moving blackness that was worse than fire, the tremors that made rocks crumble and the ridge collapse. All of it could come again.

  She must leave, must look for Screech and then leave as quickly as she could. But where could she go? She raised her eyes again, to the high plateau. Only there could she still see the greenness of trees and grasses, the movements of animals.

  Tucking the infant firmly against her hip, she slid down the boulder and began to walk in the direction of the plateau. Hope flared anew as she trudged across the charred ground. It was near this place that she had lost Screech. Surely now, in full daylight, she would find him. She scoured the area with her eyes and called to him constantly, listening for any unusual sound. But the woods were startlingly silent, almost devoid of life. Once, a snake slithered past, leaving a curved gray trail. Later, she almost ran into a pair of antelopes that had escaped the fires below. They jumped away from her and disappeared silently behind the dense trees.

  As she neared the ravine, a loud roaring made her frown in confusion. The sound had not been there last night. Cautiously, she crept closer and then stood still as understanding dawned. It was water, rushing water. The storm had turned the gorge into a turbulent, fast-moving river. The sight filled her with terror. Her memory of the foaming river was dim, but her brain and her body reacted instinctively. Leaping away from the dangerous current, she plodded reluctantly up the hill to look for another route to the plateau. For hours, she searched, but always she found herself back at the ravine. There was no way around it. To get to the plateau she would have to go through the raging water, but to do that was impossible.

  Hopelessness assailed her. Sobbing uncontrollably, she collapsed in a heap on the unyielding ground. She was trapped here, stuck in this terrible place without sun or sustenance or any sign of life, where huge trees menaced her with their dark shapes and there was no sound, only silence and shadowy darkness and the horrible stench of smoldering earth and damp ash. And she had not found Screech, would never find him now; he was gone, burned in the fires or sucked into the raging water.

  The infant's wails roused her. Zena looked down at the small face, unseeing, and stroked the soft cheek with her fingertips. Gradually her eyes focused, as a picture of lush green grasses, of grazing animals, of trees and bushes laden with fruit, arose in her mind. These things existed on the plateau; she had seen them. And the baby at least must live.

  She rose wearily and forced her legs back toward the flooded ravine. Somehow, she must get to the plateau. It was their only hope. She walked and walked, looking for a place to cross, but everywhere she saw only foaming rapids, water so swift nothing could step into it without being knocked into the tumult.

  Almost bereft of strength now, she stumbled on. A branch tripped her and she fell headlong into the remains of a burned thicket. As she pushed herself up again, her hand met a round object that cracked under her weight. Surprised, she looked down and saw a large egg; four other eggs lay beside it. The promise of food intensified the pangs of hunger that had racked her all morning. Eagerly, she poked a fingernail through one of the shells and sucked. Nothing came out. Too ravenous to wait, she tore at the shell. It splintered off, revealing another, softer egg inside. Zena sniffed it and then thrust it into her mouth. Its solidity puzzled her, but the taste was good. She ate the others and almost immediately felt stronger.

  She went on, looking constantly for any sign of Screech as well as a place to cross. Once, a scent caught at her nostrils as she stood looking at a big boulder that still stuck up above the raging water. The smell was familiar; it was not Screech, but it was somehow like that.

  The scent wafted away before she could identify it. And then the puzzle was driven from her mind by the sight of a huge tree that had fallen across the ravine. Its massive trunk stretched far into the woods on both sides of the gorge, and branches as thick as the trees she had known by the river thrust up all along its length, creating an almost impenetrable thicket. The trunk and all its limbs were slippery with rain and the constant splash of seething water that churned between boulders in the chasm below.

  Zena stared at the tree, terrified by the chance it offered. Tentatively, she touched the trunk. Her hand slid away. She grasped one of the branches above. It, too, was slippery, but the plentiful smaller boughs that sprouted from it kept her hand in place. Slowly, she climbed up and straddled the huge trunk. Holding the infant close, she slid one thigh, then the other, along the wet surface.

  A thick, curved limb barred her way. Cautiously, she squeezed around it and straddled the trunk on the other side. A deep breath escaped her. She had managed to get past the obstacle. But there was still earth beneath her. If she kept going, the churning river would be there instead. She peered into the ravine, to judge its depth, and shut her eyes in terror. The water charged between two boulders about ten feet below the tree, then shot through a narrow crevice to create a seething cascade that roiled down a steep fall of rocks. If she fell, she would never get out.

  She began to slide off. She could not do this, dared not. It was impossible...

  She ceased to think. Without volition, her thighs held on to the trunk and began to squeeze her forward. She followed, hardly knowing what she did. Slowly, with terrible caution, she crept to the next branch that blocked her way, ignoring the twigs that slapped at her face, the rough bark that tore at her legs.

  The rapids rushed below her, louder now, but she did not look down. She could not. She looked only at the next branch, at the place she would grab as she swung herself and the infant around the impediment. Now she had to squeez
e through a narrow cleft where two large limbs made a sharp angle. Slowly, she pulled herself upright, clutching the baby under one arm and holding tightly to a stout branch with her free hand. She stepped through the gap. Her foot slid out from under her, and she fell heavily. Terrified by the sudden jolt, the infant screamed and wriggled wildly. Zena held on to her with frantic strength. Her knees hit the sleek trunk, and she managed to get her legs around it to clasp it once again.

  Her whole body was trembling, and she stopped for a moment to rest. Before her was a long, bare area, with no branches, not even any brush, to hold on to. Only the drenched and glossy trunk lay between her and the roiling water below. Beyond that, the main trunk of the tree rose high in the air, supported by smaller branches that stretched to the ground. Another, narrower trunk seemed more level, but it did not rest as securely on the far bank. Zena stared at them, uncertain which to take, but when she got to the place where the trunks divided, she had no choice. To climb the larger one was impossible. It was too steep, so she ventured onto the smaller one. Forcing her eyes to the opposite bank, she inched forward. She was getting close now. Only a few more feet and she would be there.

  Cautiously, she began to pull herself upright to maneuver her way around a limb that rose straight up from the middle of the trunk. She never managed to stand, for at just that moment the tree shifted. The branches that supported the larger trunk gave way, and it plunged toward the ground. Swaying horribly, the smaller trunk dropped toward the water.

  Zena screamed and wrapped her legs convulsively around the plunging trunk. Bushes projected from the top of the opposite bank. She grabbed desperately at them, but she was jerked backward as the trunk fell, and they slithered from her fingers. The movement knocked her off balance and almost wrenched the infant from her grasp. The baby's body was slippery and stiff with fear, and Zena knew she could not hold on to her much longer. She would drop her soon, into the foaming chasm...

  With a momentous effort, she raised her arms over her head as she straddled the sodden trunk, and threw the infant toward the bushes. Then she clung with all her strength to the branch in front of her as the tree swung wildly above the gorge.

  The trunk smashed into the edge of the bank, halfway down the steep side of the ravine. Against her will, Zena's eyes were drawn to the seething water, so close now that it splashed unceasingly against her face. With demonic force, it tried to dislodge her; it pulled relentlessly at her feet and careened over her ankles, smashing into them as if reluctant to give way and part around them.

  Dizzy with terror, Zena closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she moaned in despair. There was no escape. Beside her, the side of the bank curved sharply inward, hollowed out by the rushing water. It was slick with clay, impossible to climb. The bushes were above her, far beyond her reach. There was no sound from the infant.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dak stalked silently through the woods. He had left the others crouched under a boulder deep within the ravine. They were safer there. To flee any farther from the blazing mountain tonight was dangerous. They had been walking for hours, ever since the mountain had exploded, but now the storm had become so intense he dared not venture farther. Trees were crashing all around them, and the fire-reddened air was so heavy with smoke and dust they could not see. Besides, Myta was hampered by her two young ones, and Rune, his mother, had slowed with age. His young brother Klep was strong, but his small legs were unaccustomed to walking all through the night.

  He would be safer in the ravine as well. He had left it only because of the howling, the terrible, grief-stricken cries that had torn at his chest as if he had uttered them himself. He did not know what creature had made the anguished sounds, or why, but they had seemed to lodge inside him. Even after they had ceased, they had pulled at him relentlessly, had drawn him from the gorge and compelled him to walk through the raging storm to see if he could find their source.

  A blazing shard landed close by, igniting a bush. Dak grabbed a stick and beat at the flames until they were gone. He did not want the fire to spread and make it impossible for him to return to the others. Some of the fire stayed in the top of his stick. He looked curiously at the glowing tip. It gave out light, so he kept it with him as he moved on.

  The land was rising now under his feet. He was at the far end of the ridge, where it began to slope up steeply and curve south. The area was unfamiliar to him. He and the others lived in the valley to the east, behind the ridge. They seldom climbed up the steep hill, for the leopard hunted there. It had taken his sister, Apar, when she had ventured up one day to look for fruit, and had stayed into the evening hours. Her young one had disappeared as well, though they had seen only Apar's body hanging from the tree. Long ago, he remembered, he had climbed over the ridge himself, drawn by the scent of others, though he had been careful to avoid the leopard. He smiled as an image of the pond, and the mate he had found there, formed in his mind.

  The memory vanished as Dak's attentive ears caught a low sound. It was not the howling; instead, it was a whimper, like the sound young ones uttered when they were hurt, or wanted food. He edged forward cautiously, testing the smoke-laden air with his nostrils. A scent came to him and then disappeared as a gust of wind pulled sodden leaves and ash from the floor of the forest and whipped it at his face, but even in that moment he had known that the smell was familiar.

  The whimper was louder now. Dak's forehead wrinkled in consternation. How could a young one be here? He had left all the others in the ravine. None were missing. And the scent was not that of any member of his troop. It was similar, but not the same. He had known it before, though he could not identify it precisely. His eyes clouded as he tried to remember.

  Now the sound was right under his feet. It came from beneath a big fallen tree. Dak held his burning stick near the ground and stared into the tangle of branches. His straining eyes focused on a small shape, deep within the brush. The shape twitched. Dak knelt, trying to see more clearly though the driving rain and soot-blackened air. He moved the burning stick closer. The creature flinched away from it.

  The stick's glow illuminated the area and the dark shape took on meaning. It was a young one, lying face-down against the damp earth. A branch covered its neck and shoulder, pinning it to the ground. On its back was a long, curved scar.

  The hair on Dak's neck rose at the sight. The scar had meaning for him. He knew it immediately, but the meaning would not come clear. He reached into the tangle and touched the small form. A hand thrust toward his face, and the moaning began again. Dak hesitated. To rescue a young one who was not from his troop felt strange, but the nagging sense of familiarity that came with this one tugged at his instinct to protect.

  He looked carefully at the fallen tree. Most of its weight was supported by smaller branches. It was one of these that had pinned the youngster to the ground. The others could break at any moment and crush the small form beneath. He tried to raise the branch, but it was held firmly in place by the tree's weight and would not budge. Clenching his teeth with the effort, he crouched below a big limb and pushed upward with all his strength. Unexpectedly, the whole tree lurched toward the ground. He scooped up the small body and leaped away. With a massive crack, the tree settled against the sodden earth.

  Dak stared down at the little creature in his arms. Blood covered its face, but its eyes were open and staring. It uttered a new sound, a call unfamiliar to Dak, and raised a hand to his face. Then it sighed deeply and its eyes slowly closed.

  Again Dak hesitated. The howling sounds still reverberated within him, and he knew he had not found their source. This one had not made such noises. Perhaps another was pinned beneath the tree, or lay wounded somewhere ahead. He scanned the area carefully, but he could see almost nothing in the blackness.

  The wind rose suddenly. It blew thick ashes into his face, whistled harshly in his ears. Then he heard a new noise, one that made him turn sharply toward the ravine. It was the sound of water slapping against boulde
rs. He ran forward and peered into the deep gorge. Already, the water had risen so high it would cover his ankles if he stood there. A picture of the others, crouched under the boulder waiting for him, came into his mind. He hurried back the way he had come, his face wrinkled with anxiety.

  The small creature moaned piteously as his hurrying steps jostled it. Dak looked down at the sound, but he did not break his stride. The water was rising fast; he must hurry. But when he reached the place where he had left the others, no one was there. His heart thumped in fear, and he looked frantically around him. Lightning flashed nearby, and the momentary illumination revealed many sets of footprints on the north side of the gorge.

  Relief coursed through him. The others had crossed already. Dak stepped cautiously into the ravine. Water swirled around his knees, then for a moment reached his chest. He held the youngster above the torrent as he stumbled to the other side. Soon the flood would be so turbulent no creature could cross. The others had been wise to move on.

  He scrambled up the far bank, studying the footprints carefully. Already rain had obliterated many of the marks, but he was able to tell that the others were still heading north. All the day before, as monstrous clouds had poured from the mountain, his mother, Rune, had gestured in that direction. She knew of places the others had never seen, for she had lived a long time. When the mountain had exploded, she had called excitedly, running north a short way, then coming back to make them follow her. And so they had started off, as fast as they could with the young ones. Dak himself had often seen a high plateau to the north, when he had climbed the ridge to go to the pond. The place had been green, and filled with animals. It was far from the screaming mountain, too. They would be safe there.