CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  Cere shuddered, remembering. The Big Ones had never seemed aggressive, but they had still frightened her. She was glad Zena was older and no longer yearned so strongly for the companionship of other young ones. Now she spent more of her time helping the adults and experimenting with objects she found around her. Some were not very useful, like the stringy meat, but others surely were. Cere adjusted the sling, marveling once more at the freedom of her hands.

  The tribe started off again, heading south this time. Zena strode beside Kalar, glad to have this chance to learn from the wise woman. Whenever she saw a plant she could not identify or some behavior in an animal that was unfamiliar, she asked about it. Kalar had observed animals for years, and could usually answer. As well as warning of predators, animals often told her that storms were coming, or where food or water could be found. But plants were Kalar's specialty. She knew all the flowers and shrubs and herbs in the areas where they traveled. Her mother had taught her their uses; she had added her own knowledge, acquired through years of patient observation, and that of the wise woman from the nearby tribe. Kalar was as eager to teach as Zena was to learn, and she watched carefully for specimens as they walked, so she could identify them and explain how to use them.

  "See the shape," she said, holding out a leafy twig she had plucked from a nearby bush. "It goes many ways, like the fingers on your hand. It goes many ways inside you, too, to help sickness."

  Zena nodded. Once, she had seen baboons eating this plant, as if they, too, knew the faintly aromatic twigs would help.

  "This one is soft," Kalar continued, bending to pull up a succulent plant. "It goes on the skin and draws out the pain." She crushed it into a ball and placed it on Zena's arm, where vines had scratched her. The small cuts soon stopped throbbing.

  Another she held up for all to see. "This kills," she said sternly to the children. " Do not eat it." Kalar knew that from her mother, whose young one had died after eating this plant.

  The children stared, their eyes wide with alarm. Zena held the plant, with its deep purple flower and narrow leaves, and stored its appearance in her memory, as she had stored the others. A loud trumpeting made her jump. Kalar led them quickly away from the sound. The track they were following had been made by elephants. The herd ambled along, pushing down trees and uprooting bushes with their strong trunks, and gradually a cleared path emerged from the brush. The track made walking easier, but if the elephants were using it, the tribe moved out of their way. The massive creatures would not harm them unless they felt threatened, but sometimes the males were aggressive, especially when the time of mating came.

  They went on, walking through the brush beside the track, and watching carefully. There were no more loud calls, only a low rumbling noise that seemed to come from a single animal, a lone female elephant who stood in the middle of the track. Her feet were planted protectively over a tiny calf. Zena watched as she prodded the calf over and over with her trunk. The small one did not move. She looked questioningly at Kalar.

  "It has died," Kalar said, her eyes filled with pity. "Its mother mourns, as we mourn when young ones die."

  Zena took a last look as Kalar urged them away from the place. The elephant raised its head and stared at her, but Zena thought it had not really seen her, for its eyes were clouded with grief. Her own eyes filled with sympathetic tears, and for a long time, she was quiet.

  A brown chameleon darted across the ground in front of her, distracting her from thoughts of the elephant. It scuttled onto a leafy branch and then stood perfectly still, its body stretched out along a green stem. Slowly, as Zena watched, it turned green itself. She called to the children, to show them. They watched, open-mouthed, as its color continued to change.

  "It hides that way," she told them. They looked at their own bodies, as if expecting them to change too. Zena laughed. "Only ones like this change," she explained. Then she had an idea, and ran back to get some purple berries they had passed. Standing Sima in front of her, she drew a long line of purple, squeezed from the berries, across Sima's small belly. The two boys shoved at her, wanting a line too. Zena obliged by making a big circle on each, as well as a line. They ran off happily, sticking their decorated stomachs out as far as they would go.

  Soon after, they decided to stop for the night near a deep depression in the earth, where elephants had rolled during the rainy season. There would be water if they dug deeply, for the elephants' heavy bodies had compressed the earth so that it held water even when there had been no rain for months.

  Agar had brought a burning stick, and had managed to keep it going. Sometimes the glow at the tip burned out as they traveled, and then they were without the protection of fire - but for this night, at least, they would be safe. They gathered sticks and brush and settled themselves around the fire, glad to rest.

  A call from the bushes brought Bran and Agar to their feet, clutching the big stones they always kept near them. The others grabbed their own stones and drew together, protecting the young ones with their bodies. But when she heard the call again, Kalar relaxed. These were people from the tribe near the river, whom they had often visited. They would be welcome.

  The bushes parted to reveal an old woman. Her face was wrinkled, her teeth so worn they barely showed above her gums. But she moved with dignity as she approached Kalar and touched her gently on the shoulder.

  "Greetings," she said, lowering herself slowly to the ground. She was the wise one for her tribe, and Kalar was glad to see her. This was the one who had added so much to her knowledge of plants. She knew them all, especially those that cleansed wounds and helped to make pain go away.

  Three others came through the bushes. In their hands were some big fish. Parts of the river near their gathering place had dried up, leaving fish stranded and easy to catch.

  "You eat," one of the men told Kalar, handing her the fish. "We have many." Kalar inclined her head gravely, to thank him.

  Bran found sticks that did not burn easily and speared the fish so they could be held over the fire. Soon their tantalizing aroma filled the air. When they were cooked, he signaled to Zena to find some big leaves, so he could place the fish on them to be passed around. Kalar took the first bite, for she knew the fish was in thanks for her help when the women labored, and then passed it to the old female.

  "You eat, too," she told her, knowing the soft flesh would be easy for her to chew.

  After that, all of them dug their fingers eagerly into the fish. When only bones were left, they snuggled companionably around the fire, talking and relaxing. Then Nyta rose, calling to one of the young men from the other tribe. Tempa signaled to the other one, and they went off behind some bushes to mate. The young woman who had accompanied the group took Bran with her, and Agar followed, to wait for his turn. After each couple had rested, they would trade partners, so that everyone who wished to had a chance to mate with everyone else.

  Kalar watched them go, smiling. To have this opportunity to mate with men and women from another tribe was good. Mating was a gift from the Mother, one She wanted them to use often. It also gave much pleasure, especially to the women. Often, the tingling sensations and the warm glow lasted for many hours. Men tired more quickly, and she did not think their pleasure was as great. But mating calmed them, and that was important. It was the Mother's way of reducing the fighting that occasionally broke out between males, even those like Bran and Lett who were usually peaceful. Mating pulled a fluid from them, a fluid that made them aggressive if it stayed too long within them. Kalar had often observed this, and she was grateful to the Mother for providing a solution.

  Once, she too had eagerly sought out men from other tribes for mating, but now only Lett seemed to spark desire. A ripple of remembered delight coursed through her body, and she rubbed Lett's leg and touched her lips to his, considering whether or not to leave the warm fire and seek the privacy of the bushes. Lett looked into her eyes, understanding her perfectly. Without speaking, they decided they were too lazy and co
ntent to move. They settled back against a fire-warmed rock, touching often, rubbing their faces together in a gentle rhythm. There would be other times, and they could wait.

  The children followed the mating couples, eager to peer at them through the bushes. Sima and the two little boys watched with great interest, but Zena had seen this many times before and quickly became bored. Mating seemed a silly activity to her, and she could not understand why the adults spent so much time doing it. Even Kalar did it, especially with Lett. She had often watched them. Zena had asked her about it, and Cere, too, but neither had provided a satisfactory answer.

  "It gives great pleasure to those who do it," they had told her, but she had not believed them. The groans they uttered, and the grimaces on their faces, made her think that mating must be a very uncomfortable process. She was certain she would never do it.

  She wandered away from the fire. Darkness would come soon, and she wanted to explore while the light remained. Handing her infant to Kalar, Cere followed. Zena liked to be independent, and she was old enough now to stay out of danger, but Cere still worried when she went off by herself. She stayed a short distance behind, so Zena would not see her.

  The sun was approaching the western horizon, and Zena stood to watch the colors. Always, they astonished her with their beauty. She had asked Kalar why the colors came, but this answer had not satisfied her, either.

  "The Mother makes the colors," Kalar had said. But Zena thought the sun itself made the colors when it was squeezed behind the earth, just as berries let out color when they were squeezed. Still, she was not sure. The sun reappeared each morning, full and round, while the berries stayed flat.

  Antelopes of many kinds grazed in the distance. Some were tall, higher than the zebra that grazed among them. Others were small, graceful creatures with pointed horns. All of them suddenly leaped straight into the air, as if to see better over the tall grasses, then ran out of sight. Probably a lion was chasing them, Zena thought, glad to be far away.

  She froze. A rustling sound had come from the grasses beside her.

  Nothing sprang, and Zena relaxed enough to turn her head to look. The rustling came again, so faint she would not have heard it had she not been listening hard. She raised her arm, her fist clenched around the rock she always took with her, and bent down to look more closely.

  At first, she could see nothing, so well did the small creature blend with its surroundings. Then a gasp of surprise escaped her; she quelled it quickly lest she startle the tiny gazelle that lay huddled almost under her feet. She would have stepped on it had she not heard the rustling.

  Why had it not run? And where was its mother? Although gazelles had little fear of creatures like themselves who did not prey on them, they usually ran if any animal came too close. There must be something wrong with this one, to lie so still even when she knelt directly beside it. But it was not dead. Breath went in and out of its body, and that stopped when death came. Could it be hurt?

  The calf's eyes were closed, and its muzzle lay along its front feet. As Zena leaned closer, the fringed lids slowly opened, and the baby gazelle turned its head to stare at her. She stared back, entranced. The limpid brown eyes seemed to her to contain everything she had ever seen in the savannah - the beauty as well as the fear, the enormity of the sky and grasses, the incredible intricacy of the many living forms. Zena could not find words to express the immensity of her thoughts, but still she saw it all in the tiny creature's eyes.

  Her arm dropped, and she placed the stone silently on the ground. Slowly, with infinite caution, she reached out to touch the calf. It moved slightly, but did not try to rise. Her hand came closer. A long shudder of anxiety rippled through the fawn-colored body when her fingers made contact, but still it did not run. Zena rubbed it gently, then more vigorously, as if her hand were its mother's tongue. Over and over, she stroked the soft fur, from neck to rump, with smooth, strong gestures.

  Another noise made her look up in alarm. But it was only Cere, coming to see what Zena had found. Fear showed in the calf's eyes as Cere approached, and it struggled to rise to its feet. But its legs would not hold it, and it fell back against the ground, bleating piteously.

  "Quiet," Zena whispered. "It is hurt, I think."

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she moved her hand down the calf's rump until she was touching a leg. Again, a shudder ran down its body, but it stayed still. Returning her hand to its back, she stroked it slowly, over and over. The calf relaxed and breathed more calmly. Zena tried again, stroking first one leg, then another. It did not move. But when she tried to touch the third leg, the calf stiffened and butted her fingers with its head. Zena stopped, and returned her hand to its back.

  Cere watched, unmoving. She had noticed before that animals did not seem to fear Zena. They did not run, and sometimes, like this one, they allowed her to touch them. She sighed, sorry for the small creature. Before the night was over, it would be dead. A lion would come, or the hyenas.

  She rose to leave, but Zena stopped her with an imperative gesture. "We must heal it," she said.

  Cere stared at her. How could they make an animal's leg work again? That was impossible. But Zena would not be deterred. She was certain she could fix the calf, with Kalar's help. Surely, there were herbs for this, too.

  She drew the small creature into her arms, murmuring low bleating sounds all the while. At first it struggled to escape, but when she rubbed her face gently along its flank, in the same way her hands had moved, it lay still again. Cradling it in her arms, she walked slowly toward the fire.

  The others were already sleeping. There were many now, for the visitors had stayed so they would not have to walk in the darkness. Zena was glad they were asleep. The flames and the smell of many bodies made the little gazelle tremble and squirm, but at least there were no voices to frighten it further.

  She lay down beside it, a little away from the others, and soothed it with her hands, with low, cooing noises. It settled beside her. Slowly, as she watched, its deeply fringed lids drooped over its eyes. As long as it felt her hands on its back, it was still. But as soon as she stopped stroking, its eyes opened again, and it tried to rise.

  Zena stroked and stroked, trying to stay awake, but the warmth and her full belly conspired against her, and her eyes finally closed. Twice, she awoke when the calf moved against her and she stroked it until sleep claimed her once again. But when she awoke in the morning, just as light began to filter through the trees, the tiny creature was gone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Apprehension turned Zena's stomach into a hard knot. Pictures flashed through her mind: she saw the calf dead, killed by a hungry animal that had managed to creep up in the night without waking her, or by one of the visitors, for food. But the others were still sleeping, and she saw no footprints of animals. She sprang to her feet and began to search through the sleeping bodies, all around the area of the fire, and beyond, in the bushes. Perhaps the calf had managed to struggle to its feet and had hobbled away, frightened by the smell of many people.

  Kalar sat up and rubbed her eyes. She watched curiously as Zena leaned down to look under a bush.

  "What do you look for?" she asked sleepily.

  "My gazelle," Zena replied, her voice tremulous.

  Kalar sighed, and almost laughed. The child had such strange ideas. But the laugh died in her throat when Zena raised her face. She was truly distressed, Kalar saw.

  Cere woke, hearing the voices. She jumped up and began to help Zena.

  "Zena found it in the grasses," she explained, seeing Kalar's perplexed face. "A young one."

  Kalar frowned. "But it must go back to its mother," she said firmly. "Only the mother can feed a young one."

  "Its mother cannot help it," Zena said, peering into a clump of small trees. "Its leg is hurt. We must heal it."

  Sympathy sprang into Kalar's eyes, but her voice was still firm.

  "That is for the Mother to do," she said. "The gazelle is the Mother's creat
ure, for Her to care for."

  A stubborn expression came into Zena's face. "I must care for this one," she stated, and resumed her search.

  Kalar and Cere looked at each other with raised eyebrows. When Zena had made up her mind, there was little anyone could do to change it. They, too, began to look for the little gazelle.

  The others woke, disturbed by the noises. Zena had disappeared to search near the place where she had found the calf, so Cere tried to explain. Bran and Agar grinned at yet another of Zena's strange behaviors. But when Zena returned, her downcast face aroused even their sympathy.

  "I will help," Agar said.

  Zena's eyes lit up in relief. Agar knew more of animals even than Kalar. Bran was big and gentle, but Agar was a small, quick-tempered male who often aroused the wise woman's wrath because he struck out or yelled at one of the others. Then she stared at him until he retreated to cool his anger. He went to the animals at these times, and watched them for long hours. He knew how they behaved, what they ate, and where they hid.

  Agar asked her to describe the calf and where she had found it. Nodding, he went immediately to a small area of brown grass she had not noticed.

  "It could be here," he told Zena, "where it can hide. It looks for grass of this color."

  He was right. The gazelle was lying just as she had found it, its small muzzle stretched on its feet. It was almost invisible against the brown stalks. Zena looked up at Agar in immense gratitude. Never again would she provoke him, as she and the other children sometimes did, to watch him lose his temper.

  The calf's eyes opened a little when Zena bent over it, but it barely resisted when she picked it up.

  "It needs food," Agar said. "It is weak."

  "What does it eat?" Zena had often watched gazelles feeding, but she was not certain which of the many grasses they liked best.

  "It eats from its mother," he replied. Seeing the dismay on her face, he added, "but it is old enough to eat grasses, too, and leaves. We can try."