Three-Legs gamboled clumsily toward the honey-digger, wanting to play, and was rewarded by a savage swipe of the animal's heavy paw. Zena pulled the calf sharply backward just before the claws hit. The small gazelle snorted with dismay and began to tremble. Zena picked up her pet and followed the ferocious creature from a careful distance. Perhaps it would lead them to honey. All of them craved the sweet stuff, especially during the dry season, when fruit was hard to find.
The honey-digger lumbered on, then stopped, as if looking for something. Zena noticed a small bird, just ahead of it. The bird flew a short distance, perched on a branch until the animal saw it, then flew again. The honey-digger followed. Intrigued, Zena followed as well. Abruptly, the bird ceased to fly and stared intently toward the ground. The honey-digger stopped in front of it and began to dig energetically. Soon bees were flying everywhere. Zena ran a safe distance away, but the animal ignored the furious insects. It just kept digging, and as it dug, it ate, shoving its face into the gaping hole to consume any bees that remained in the nest, the honey, the young ones inside - everything but the waxy coating around the beehive. This it left for the bird that had guided it. The bird pecked daintily, satisfied with its prize.
Remembering her task, Zena began to scour the rocky hillside for the leafy twigs Kalar needed. When she had a big bundle of them, she hurried back to the others, eager to tell them about the bird and the honey-digger. Agar and Cere followed her back to the place, hoping for some of the delectable treat, but nothing was left. Disappointed, they turned back. Then Agar spotted a hole filled with scurrying honey ants. The voracious digger had unearthed it as well, and the ants were trying to repair the damage it had made. On their abdomens were globules of honey, twice the size of the ants themselves.
Zena's stomach rumbled in anticipation. Grasping the ants carefully so they would not pinch her, she bit off the tasty bundles of sweet stuff until her craving was satisfied. Then she and the two adults scooped some of the scurrying insects into a basket and hurried back to the resting place. The others greeted them joyfully. Honey was a very special treat, especially for the children. Even Lupe ate some, to wash down the bitter brew Kalar was forcing down his throat. The other children ran back for more, and soon became expert at grabbing the wriggling ants and nipping off the delicious honey without being pinched. It seemed to restore their energy, and they began to romp and play with their usual abandon.
They rested for one more day and then went on. Lupe was now recovering quickly, and Kalar wanted to get to the lake before the rains came to batter them as they walked. Once at the lake, they could build a sturdy shelter to protect them, or repair their old one, if it was still there. But when they reached the familiar spot, two days later, they found their old shelter occupied by others. Bran and Agar, irritated at seeing strangers in the place they considered their own, started toward the intruders, to force them to leave. Kalar called them back.
"We will build another," she said. Reluctantly, they turned back.
"That is our place," Agar objected.
"All places are the Mother's," Kalar replied. "The land is Hers, not ours."
Agar looked sullen, but he did not argue. He was tired and sweaty after the long journey, and wanted more than anything else to jump in the lake and clean himself. All of them preferred to bathe every day, but that was hard to manage when they traveled.
He ran to join the others, who were already cavorting in the fresh, cool water. When the grime of the past week had been removed, they rubbed themselves with clumps of sweet-smelling leaves and lay drowsily in the sun to dry. After that, they began the arduous job of constructing a shelter. Grasses had to be gathered for thatch to protect them from the rain. There were thorn bushes to cut with their sharp stones, then rocks had to be found to support them, and long, slender branches for the roof.
Kalar took Zena with her to search for a suitable site. It had to give them a good view of the lake and be placed against the rocks on the other side, to protect them from winds as well as predators that might creep up unseen from behind. In front, they would have the fire, if they could keep it going during the rains to come. That was always a problem. If the fire was lit inside the shelter, they could hardly breathe, but if they left it outside, it was soon extinguished by the torrential afternoon rains. Night after night, Kalar had opened herself for a picture from the Mother that might help them with the problem, but so far, no message had come.
Perhaps Zena would solve that one, too, Kalar thought wryly as she wandered around the lake.
She came to a place where large boulders littered a gentle hillside. One boulder, especially, provided a wonderful view of the lake and all the land around it. Zena had already climbed up on the boulder; she stood there, arms outstretched, as if embracing everything before her. Kalar watched, intrigued. Zena looked so serious, as she often did. But she looked dazed, too, as if she were seeing something far away.
The small gazelle clambered stiffly up beside Zena and nuzzled her hand. For once, Zena paid scant attention. She felt as if her mind were somewhere else, almost as if another were seeing through her eyes. A picture began to form, of the lake, but it was not the lake as she saw it today. The reeds were thicker, and there were many birds...
Three-Legs nuzzled her hand again, harder, and the picture disappeared. Zena laughed and pulled the insistent calf close against her. She would have to watch her pet carefully, now that there was another tribe living nearby. Like the Big Ones, they might not understand that Three-Legs was not food.
Kalar pronounced the site with the boulders perfect for their needs. There was a large level area where they could gather, just below the rocks, and plenty of space for the shelter. They lugged their materials to the place and began to build. A day later, just as the rains began, they attached the last bundle of thatch, bound with vines so it would not blow away, and snuggled happily inside. This shelter was much better than the old one, they decided, glad now that they had built it.
Cere sat Zena in front of her and began to comb her tangled hair with a bunch of twigs she had bound together with a vine. The hair was thick and unruly, and the comb broke. Sighing, Cere set it aside. Tomorrow, she decided, she would hold Zena's hair under water, to clean it, so the combing would be easier.
Freed from Cere's pulling, Zena began to work on a project that had formed in her mind as they had traveled. They needed one more sling, and there was little chance that they would come across another antelope. She had decided to try making another big basket of vines, like the one they had used to carry Three-Legs. It would have to be sturdier, though, to carry an infant safely. She set to work with some vines she had brought with her into the shelter, trying to weave them back and forth more closely than she had before. Cere saw what she was doing, and came to help. Her long, slender fingers were nimble and quick, and Zena soon turned the project over to her. When the basket was finished, they padded it with soft grasses, and put Cere's infant, a girl-child called Filar, inside. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and slept.
After that, all of them tried making big baskets that were carried across their shoulders, as well as the small ones they normally carried in one hand. The larger ones were wonderfully useful. They could hold twigs and sticks for the fire, large melons and tubers, or piles of clean grasses to line the shelter where they slept. Cere's were always the best. None of them could weave as neatly and securely as she, and whenever one of them wanted a new basket, they asked her to make it in return for food or the performance of various tasks. Cere loved basket making and was always delighted to oblige.
The females living in their old shelter were fascinated by the slings. They had watched curiously as Kalar and the others built the new shelter, and had even imitated some of their techniques, piling on clumps of twigs and grasses where the old roof leaked. But it was the slings they really coveted. Every day, they came a little closer to the place where Cere worked, holding their infants tightly against their chests as they stared at her
handiwork.
The children of both groups were not so restrained. They spent a few moments examining each other, then began to play noisily together, splashing through the shallows and hiding from each other behind rocks and trees. Only Zena stayed away. She was growing fast, and play was less appealing now than watching the birds and animals, or helping the adults, or working on one of the projects that often sprang full-blown into her mind, as if they had been there all along, only she had not seen them before.
The children's spontaneity seemed to give the women of the other tribe courage. The one who appeared to lead them pointed at the sling Zena was using, then at herself, as if asking to try it. Zena took the sling off and placed it around her shoulders. The strange female's eyes lit up in delight as she displayed herself proudly to her companions. They all began to point and gesture excitedly, wanting more of the slings.
Zena and Cere looked at each other in dismay. There were many of these women, too many to make slings for all of them. Zena held up a hand for silence, and gestured for the women to follow her. She led them to the place where the vines they used for baskets grew, and had each of them collect a bunch of long strands. Then she sat them down beside Cere to watch closely while she worked. Cere moved her fingers slowly, so they could imitate. Frowning in concentration, they began to copy her. At first, their efforts were clumsy, but they quickly became more adept at weaving the vines securely together and tying them in neat, strong knots.
Zena helped them for a time, then she went off to sit by herself on the big boulder above the resting place. She kept Three-Legs close beside her, worried that the men of the other tribe might harm her pet. The women and children seemed to accept the little gazelle as a strange kind of young one; they laughed at its antics and fondled it gently. But she was not sure about the men. Males were different, she thought, more apt to kill quickly. That was true even among children. Yesterday, Kalar had become intensely angry with Lupe and Dorn. The two boys had killed all the baby birds in a nest, though they had no need for food.
"These are the Mother's creatures," she had told them, not raising her voice but speaking with such severity that they had trembled before her. "Never should you kill more than you need, lest there be none for the next year. You should thank the Mother for Her abundance, not use it for play!"
She had taken the bloody stones from the boys' hands and looked at them with despair in her eyes, as if feeling the pain they had inflicted on the birds.
Then she had turned and screamed at them, frightening them so badly they had not spoken for the rest of the day.
"Go, and do not come back to my presence until you have spoken words of sorrow to the Mother for what you have done."
The two boys had run off, shamefaced. Lett had followed them to make sure they did as Kalar had asked.
Zena stared at the landscape before her and thought of these things. She never had the desire to kill, except for food as she needed it, and then she always blessed the food, as Cere and Kalar had taught her. All creatures came from the Mother, and if they gave their lives for Zena or any of the others, they should be thanked, and remembered to the Mother, so She would receive them back into Her heart.
Zena sighed heavily, aware that the senseless killing had hurt her too. She could not understand it. Kalar had told her there was a force in males, some much more than others, that had to be controlled, lest it be used to harm others or hurt the Mother's creatures. Always, she had said, the men needed a wise one to help them control this force.
The thought confused Zena. The men she had known were so kind. Agar had helped her with Three-Legs, and Bran was always good to her, even if he teased. She thought it strange, too, that the Mother should make men this way. Next time she talked to Kalar, she would have to ask why this should be so.
She sat on, aware of a sadness in her that had a deeper source than the puzzling behavior of males. It came instead from something deep inside herself, from the questions always in her mind, questions that had no answers, about men, about mating, about why some had words and some did not, why the Mother gave young ones only to females, why animals behaved as they did. She wanted to know especially why the Mother allowed bad things to happen, like the killing of the birds or the harming of other animals for no reason. That seemed wrong to Zena, and she wanted to fix it, as she wanted to fix all things.
None of the others seemed to be bothered by these questions, she reflected, except for Kalar. But when she had questions, the Mother gave her answers, in pictures. Why did the Mother not answer her, Zena, when she wanted to know something? Kalar had told her she must be patient, and wait many hours, many days or moons even, to receive the pictures. That seemed a long time to Zena. She wanted to know the answers right away.
She remembered that a picture had almost come into her mind when she had stood on this boulder, before they had built the shelter, but it had been swept away, when Three-Legs had nuzzled her. Zena decided she would try to get it back.
She stood, arms raised, as she had stood before, and closed her eyes. Three-Legs nuzzled her again. She frowned sternly at the little gazelle and put her hand on its back so it would be content and not bother her. Then she closed her eyes again and waited.
Slowly, a picture began to form in her mind, though she did not think it was like the one she had almost seen before. This one felt different, and it was not here, by the lake. Instead, Zena realized that she was standing in the clearing by the river, near the shelter there. The air smelled smoky, and there were noises, loud, terrifying noises that made her want to clap her hands over her ears, to protect them. The sounds came from animals, she thought.
She saw Kalar, standing near the river. The wise woman's face was contorted with fear. She was screaming, calling out a message. Zena heard her voice, but she could not make out the words. There was too much noise; it was worse now, a thunderous racket that got louder and louder.
And then Kalar was running, running as if her life depended on it.
Zena screamed. She did not like this picture, did not want to see it. Sobbing, she thrust it from her mind. She pushed it away so hard that when Cere came running to ask what was wrong, Zena could not tell her what she had seen. The river, the noise, and the confusion were gone. All that remained was Kalar's terrified face.
Zena rubbed her eyes hard, to make the face go away too. Ignoring Cere's questions, she jumped from the boulder and ran off to play with the children. For all the time that remained at the lake, she played with frantic abandon, as if willing herself to be a child again, a child like them, who did not get pictures from the Mother.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Zena and the children from both tribes sat under a clump of trees, shading themselves from the hot sun.
"We do words," she told the children. "Pictures too."
They looked at her expectantly. Zena had created games for them, games of naming things and making scratches in the earth that looked liked the named object, then trying to count the pictures. The children loved the games, and so did Zena. They distracted her, kept her thoughts busy so they could not return to her frightening vision on the boulder.
"Fish!" Zena called out.
Sima and Lupe immediately began to scratch a fishlike picture on the ground. Dorn managed a good imitation. The children from the other tribe copied them enthusiastically, but their scratches did not look much like a fish. Zena did not press them. They were eager to learn even if they were slower than Sima and the boys, who had been playing word games with her since infancy.
"Bird!" Zena instructed. This one was harder, but they scratched away industriously.
"Many," Zena said, pointing to all the scratched pictures. She held up her fingers. Sima pulled down one of Zena's fingers for each drawing, saying a word they had devised for each. When she got to the end of the fingers, she frowned, unable to think what to do next.
Zena laughed and rumpled her hair, too hot and thirsty to start on another hand. Instead, she led the children
to the lake to drink and cool off; then she wandered over to join Kalar and Cere. They, too, were sitting under big shade trees surrounded by eager students. Cere was helping the adults from the other tribe to make baskets, and Kalar was speaking to them of the Mother, as she had many times before. They had grasped the idea immediately, almost with relief, as if the Mother had long resided in their hearts and minds, and Kalar's words had confirmed their belief. It seemed obvious to them that a force greater than themselves must exist, since the sun rose each day, the moon each night, and storms came, and life renewed itself continuously. That the force was Mother was obvious, too. Each of them had a mother, so the earth itself and everything in it must have a mother as well.
The Mother was like their wise one, they realized, only much more wise. The Mother was the Great Wise One, the one to whom they could now turn whenever they had problems they could not solve. She was Life-Giver, too, who caused new life to form in the bellies of females, and in the earth after the rains.
Lett appeared, holding a bunch of the big-breasted, wide-hipped statues. At Kalar's request, he had made some for the women from the other tribe. She wanted them to have a tangible symbol of the Mother, to help them remember.
Kalar thanked him and stood. "May the Mother be with you always," she said, as she gestured to their wise one to come forward and accept the figures. She, in turn, handed one to each woman whose belly was round with child.
The children scrambled up from the lake to watch the ceremony, their eyes wide with awe. Zena beckoned to the smallest one, a boy from the other tribe who had just learned to walk. He toddled over and plunked himself into her lap.
She would miss them, she reflected, rubbing her hands over his smooth, sun-warmed skin. But in another way, she was glad the time had come to leave the lake and head back once again toward the river. Travel always excited her - and they could not stay much longer. The rains this year had been sparse, and with two tribes in residence, food was already hard to find.
CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) Page 17