CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  Ralak decided to try to sneak away with Lotan. Toro and Metep would be all right with the male. Metep was as tall as her mother now, and would soon be ready to mate. Once he had mated with them, the male would protect them and any infants they bore.

  Whispering to Lotan to follow, she crept farther and farther from the others as they gathered food, then ran as fast as she could into the trees. The big male saw what was happening and rushed after them furiously. He grabbed Ralak's arm and pulled so hard she screamed in agony. Lotan ran to defend her, his face contorted with fury. Ralak stopped him with a quick command, certain that the male would kill Lotan if he hit him again. Reluctantly, Lotan obeyed.

  In the weeks that followed, Ralak changed her tactics. Instead of letting her anger show, she tried to become friendly with the intruder. She and Lotan would have to escape; of that she was certain, but they would be more likely to succeed if the male thought they had accepted his presence.

  "I Ralak," she told him one evening, pointing to herself.

  He grunted and did not respond. He seemed to have few words, fewer even than Toro and Metep. Perhaps solitary males like him had no need for words.

  She pointed to the others, and named them. The male followed her pointing finger, seeming now to understand.

  "Kropor," he said clearly. It was not a name Ralak had heard before. She wondered where he had come from.

  "Mother?" Ralak said the word in a questioning tone, hoping to elicit more information. Most males were more attached to their mothers than any other, and preferred to stay with their mother's tribe as long as they could.

  She pointed to herself, then to the infant, in case his words were different.

  Kropor frowned and looked away, and for the first time she saw softness in his face. She was certain he had understood her word, and that he had cared for his mother.

  The softness vanished as Kropor watched Lotan place an arm around Ralak's shoulders. Ralak was no longer ignoring him, but it was still Lotan she cared for most. Kropor wanted her to care for him more than any other, as his mother had. Except Ralak was not mother, but potential mate, and while Lotan remained with the group, Ralak would always care most for him.

  Kropor thumped a fist against the ground. He was not accustomed to these complicated feelings, and his confusion made him angrier than ever.

  "Gone," he barked in answer to Ralak's question, and closed his lips firmly, to discourage further discussion.

  Ralak soon realized that her attempts at friendliness were not defusing Kropor's anger toward Lotan, as she had hoped. Instead, as she became less abusive, the big male tried to keep her with him all the time, and he became even more blatant in his attempts to get rid of Lotan. Once or twice, Ralak saw his eyes linger on her infant, too, as if he were gathering the courage to attack it. Baffled by this unexpected response, she began to shout at him again. She kept Lotan close beside her, and refused to let Kropor come near her or the infant.

  These efforts failed even more miserably. Bewildered and hurt by her renewed hostility, Kropor became more aggressive than ever. Ralak knew they must leave soon, and watched anxiously for an opportunity.

  Her chance came late that day, when she crested a low hill and saw fire in the valley below. At the end of the dry season, the earthforce was always restless. It swirled among the bulky clouds and charged over and over again toward the earth in long, crackling spears of lightning, triggering brush fires in the dry grasses. The fire below her was still small, but it was very smoky, so that much of the valley was hidden by a thick gray haze. Under its cover, she and Lotan could escape.

  Kropor seemed to read her mind, and would not let her out of his sight. When she moved a few paces away to suckle the infant, he grabbed her arm again. She screamed in pain, but he would not let go. He shook her savagely, finally venting his frustration with this female who had become friendly and then inexplicably refused to tolerate his presence. Why was she cruel to him again? He cared for her, wanted her to care for him. He felt a security in her presence that he had not known since his mother had died. He did not want her to leave him, make him be alone again. He wanted to keep her.

  Lotan could stand no more. For weeks he had endured Kropor's constant staring, his increasing possessiveness toward Ralak. All his accumulated tension exploded when he saw the big male grab her arm and heard her scream. He charged at Kropor, waving the digging stick he held in his hand wildly. He did not hear Ralak's cry of warning, or see the rock the male grabbed from the ground. He saw only the truculent face, the hard eyes, and he struck at them with all the force he could muster. The pointed end of the digging stick went into one of Kropor's eyes. The big male clutched it, screaming in agony.

  "Run!" The words penetrated Lotan's blind fury, but he did not respond. He could not run without his mother.

  "Run," she screamed again. "I follow!"

  Kropor raised an arm to throw the rock. Toro grabbed his hand, destroying his aim, and the rock fell harmlessly by Lotan's foot.

  The huge male growled deep in his throat, enraged by her interference. He hit out at her, but she ducked away.

  Lotan hesitated, paralyzed by indecision. Ralak ran toward him. "Run!" she screamed again. The terror in her voice galvanized Lotan. He turned and fled. Kropor pounded behind him. Blood from the wounded eye covered his face and neck, and his mouth was open in a terrifying snarl.

  Lotan ran faster. There were patches of fire in front of him now. He ran between them, dancing from one clump of grass to another to avoid the flames. He heard Kropor scream as fire scorched his feet. The pounding footsteps slowed, then stopped, but Lotan could not tell whether the big male had given up the chase or if the sound of his movements was hidden by the wind, the noisy hiss of burning grass and wood. He kept on running, first in one direction, then another, as new fires spurted up around him. Only when he was certain Kropor was no longer behind him did he stop and begin to pick his way back through the burned grasses to look for his mother. She had said she would follow.

  Blinking furiously in an effort to clear his eyes, he peered into the thick air. He could see only an arm's length in front of him, and the smoke made objects seem to appear and disappear. He started toward the hillside where he had left his mother, but then he realized he did not know where the hillside was. He had run in so many directions he could not remember.

  Calling frantically, he tried to retrace his steps. But fire had destroyed any sign of his passage, and the crackling of flames, much louder now, obscured his voice and all other sounds. If his mother answered, he did not hear; if she was nearby, searching for him, he could not see.

  Tears ran down Lotan's cheeks, from the heat and fumes, from the terrible anguish that gripped him. His search was useless. He would never be able to find Ralak in all this smoky blackness - if she was even here. She might not have been able to follow him, as she had promised. Maybe Kropor had dragged her back, was still holding her arm as she screamed in pain.

  Lotan was sure of it suddenly, as sure as if he had been there, and the realization gave him strength. He had to find his mother, had to find his way back, so he could rescue her.

  The wind rose as he stood still, trying to get his bearings. All around him, flames suddenly shot high into the air, then flattened as they attacked the dry grasses. Smoke blew in thick, murky clouds against the ground, spewing cinders into his eyes, obscuring his vision completely. Flames licked at his legs, and blistering heat seared his body. The fire was coming at him from all directions now.

  Terrified, Lotan covered his face with his hands and ran. He ran anywhere, toward any small oasis where the fire was not yet burning. He no longer knew where he had come from, where he was going. There was no way to know as the fire chased him, sent him careening in every direction.

  The flames rose still higher; they singed the downy hairs from his body and scorched his blistered feet. He blundered on, reeling with fatigue, dizzy from the pungent fumes. Twice he fell and almost stayed where he landed, t
oo exhausted to move. Each time, the burning forced him to leap up and stagger on. But the third time he fell, the ground was not so hot. Dazedly, he looked down and realized that the fire had passed this place already. Smoke rose thickly from the ground, but the flames were gone. Perhaps he could rest here for a moment.

  A large animal moved suddenly in front of him, and he jumped to his feet. He could not see what it was, but he thought he heard a menacing growl above the noise of the wind. Panicked, Lotan charged forward. He felt rocks under his feet, hard and sharp against his scorched soles. And then, abruptly, there was nothing beneath him, nothing at all.

  *************************

  On the hillside above the fire, Ralak winced sharply, as if she had been hit. But there was no one near her. Even Kropor had retreated, alarmed by her overpowering grief.

  She had tried to follow Lotan, had tried to leap from one clump of grass to another as he was doing, but the infant had screamed and wriggled with fear, making movement impossible. With her wounded shoulder, the pain of trying to hold on to the baby had quickly become intolerable. Smoke and cinders and heat had blinded her, and she could see nothing.

  And then, out of the fiery gloom, Kropor had appeared and dragged her back to the hillside.

  Furious at Lotan, at his own burning feet, at the agony of his bloody eye, he had pulled remorselessly at her injured arm, so she would have to follow. Even when she had fallen, overwhelmed by the pain, he had not let go. Only when they had reached the others had he released her. Then he had been frightened, for she had uttered a howl of absolute anguish and folded to the ground. Her body had started to shake so hard he had feared she would break, and she had screamed at him with such vengeance that he had gone away, afraid for himself as well as for her, that she would never be friendly again.

  Ashamed now of his cruelty, Kropor returned and offered Ralak a piece of fruit, to try to make amends. He had not meant to hurt her so badly. He had just wanted to keep her with him, keep her from following Lotan.

  Huddled over the infant, weeping in great, wrenching gasps, Ralak neither saw nor heard him. There was room only for Lotan in her thoughts, her heart. His slender body had disappeared behind a thick curtain of smoke, and she did not know if he was dead or alive, if he was wounded, waiting for her to come to him. He had vanished, as her brother had vanished, and she might never see him again.

  The infant nuzzled against her, and Ralak held it closer so it could suckle. The familiar sensation calmed her. Slowly, her sobs diminished. Maybe Lotan was still alive, still wandering out there somewhere, looking for her; maybe she would be able to find him when the light came again, and the fire had died down.

  A torrent of anguish threatened to overwhelm her again, but Ralak pushed it away. She had seen something, in her mind. It was a picture of Lotan, lying on the ground.

  She frowned deeply, trying to hold on to the image. Long ago, with her mother, she had often been able to see this way. But so much time had passed, with no other who could help her, that she had almost forgotten. Even her brother had been unable to help, for he did not see the pictures.

  Ralak closed her eyes, so she could see better. The picture came into focus for a moment and then vanished, as Lotan had vanished. She clenched her fists in frustration. Then fatigue overtook her and she relaxed. Listening absent-mindedly to the baby's sucking noises, she let her mind go loose.

  The image came again. She watched it carefully. She saw Lotan lying motionless against the ground. There was no fire around him, only smoke. He did not move or call out, but she did not think he was dead. It was as if a connection existed between herself and Lotan that would have broken had he been dead. But he was hurt, hurt and frightened.

  The image disappeared again, but it had given Ralak courage. She would find him. As soon as the light came again, she would look for him. And this time, Kropor would not stop her.

  Early in the morning, long before the sun had come over the horizon, she crept away from the others. Her wide feet were soundless against the dry grasses, her lithe body almost invisible against the still dark air. Kropor did not stir. Only Toro awoke. She sat up and stared at Ralak's shadowy figure. Her mouth opened, but then she pressed her hand firmly against her lips and did not move or make a sound until the small form had disappeared.

  Ralak glanced back at her gratefully. Toro had few words, but still she had understood. She hurried on, stepping with infinite caution, holding the infant close against her breast so it would not cry. She did not go to the burned place, but to the trees above, where Kropor could not see her. All morning she waited there, while he searched and called for her in mounting frustration. Then, when he and Metep and Toro had disappeared, she crept soundlessly down the hill to look for Lotan.

  For hours Ralak searched, as the sun beat heavily down on her back, but she could find no trace of him. The pungent smell of smoke obscured his scent; there were no revealing footsteps, no trail of blood. Surely if the fire or Kropor had killed him, she would have found some sign. The recognition gave her hope even as she struggled with despair. Then, suddenly, hope kindled into excitement as she caught a whiff of Lotan's scent. It came from a rocky area beneath a short, steep cliff, below the place where the fires had burned.

  He had been there; she was certain of it. His scent was strong, for the fires had not come this far. There was a hint of another scent, too, the scent of others like herself.

  Puzzled, Ralak sat back on her heels to think. A violent clap of thunder interrupted her absorption. Lightning followed, as the afternoon displays that were a prelude to the rains began. Abruptly, she became aware of a commotion in the distance. Dust was rising thickly to the east, and she heard the sound of thousands of hoofs, as if a huge group of animals had suddenly started to run.

  It was the wildebeests, she realized, on their annual migration. But why were they moving so fast? She heard another noise, faint above the din of pounding hoofs. She thought it was a scream - a scream of fear.

  Ralak leaped to her feet, galvanized by the sounds, and ran up the hillside, to see better. There were fires, far away, across the slim ribbon of river she could see from her vantage point - only the river was no longer there, for it had been obscured by the bodies of wildebeests. They were surging across it in an enormous clump, as if they were one, and they were moving in this direction.

  Was it Lotan who had screamed? Ralak did not know, could not tell. She wanted to run down to look for him, but she dared not go closer. The animals had stampeded and they would trample anything in their path. They would trample Lotan, if he was there. They would trample her, too, and the infant.

  Tucking the baby securely under her good arm, Ralak ran for the trees where she had sheltered earlier. She could not climb them with her wounded arm, so she ran deep into the woods and lay close against the earth, trying to pull its force into her, to give her strength. All through the long night she huddled there, listening to the wildebeests thunder past, pushing away the grief that threatened to tear her heart into pieces. Lotan was still alive; she was certain of it. She had seen the place where he had been, smelled his scent against the rocks. He could not die now. The fire had not killed him, Kropor had not killed him. The wildebeest would not kill him, either.

  Ralak closed her eyes firmly, squeezing back the hot tears that burned behind them, and told herself these things over and over again, willing herself to believe. Lotan would not die. In the morning, she would search again. And this time, she would find him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bran's fist lashed out and hit Lotan squarely on the chin. The boy stumbled backward and almost fell. A mixture of astonishment and anger showed on his face. The blow had not been hard, but it had caught him completely by surprise. Bran had always seemed so amiable.

  Bran looked even more surprised. Lotan had inadvertently jostled him, but he had not expected to hit the boy in return. He was appalled and embarrassed by his action. He glanced apologetically at Zena, but she only shook
her head in dismay and wandered off to sit by herself.

  Ever since they had left the clearing, incidents like this had occurred with increasing frequency. Grief lay heavily in their hearts, making them short-tempered. But their discord had a deeper source. Without Kalar's quiet guidance, they seemed unable to control themselves. They fought over petty incidents and selfishly grabbed food for themselves instead of sharing. Worse, in losing Kalar, they felt they had lost the Mother as well. Kalar had been Her representative, and with no one to speak for Her, they seemed to forget how to cooperate or express the concern for each other that still lurked deep within them.

  The others turned instinctively to Zena for leadership, sensing, as Kalar had, that she was destined to speak for the Mother. But Zena stubbornly resisted. To take Kalar's place would mean giving up her anger, and that she would not do. Anger protected her. It gave her strength to move through the days and kept her grief at bay. Most important, anger made it possible for her to keep her heart closed against the Mother. The Mother had killed Kalar and Cere and the others, and Zena had no intention of forgiving Her. Each day when she woke, each evening before sleep, she prodded her anger, so she would not forget. It spread within her, coloring all her thoughts and actions.

  Bran went to sit away from the others, with his back to them. Lupe started to follow, but changed his mind, confused by Bran's uncharacteristic behavior. Sima began to cry quietly. Lupe put his arm around her, and they huddled together, apart from the others. This, too, had become a frequent occurrence. Bran and Zena sat alone, brooding, leaving the two young ones to comfort each other as best they could. Nyta paid no attention to any of them. Ever since she had fallen from the tree, she had existed in a kind of trance, as if she did not remember what had happened to them. She fed Cere's infant and sometimes helped Sima, but she seldom spoke or responded to the others.