CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  She placed her lips against Ralak's cool cheek, to let her know she had understood. Then she rose silently and slipped from the shelter.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Mist hung heavily in the air. Wisps of it clung to the shelter, wrapped themselves sinuously around the lower branches of the trees. Zena felt the soft strands tickle her arms, caress her forehead. Despite their fragility, they seemed solid in the dim light, as if she would have to push them aside to walk.

  No noises, no movements interrupted the early morning stillness. The birds were still sleeping; the tiny monkeys had not yet left their leafy nests. Even the insects had fallen silent in the brief interim between night and day. Zena looked up, searching for the sliver of rosy orange that preceded the sun, but only the moon was there; it hung above the mountain's shrouded peak, remote and cool and beautiful.

  She shivered. The moon had always made her uneasy. It was the sun she loved, with its warmth and brilliance. She remembered Cere's words. On the night that her mother, Mina, had struggled to bear her, the moon had hidden behind dark clouds and refused to emerge. But the sun had come. Just as Kalar finished speaking to the Mother, it had slid over the horizon and touched her eyelids with rose, so that she would know her actions were blessed. The sun had given her light to see as she pulled Zena from the dark womb that had enclosed her for so long, had warmed Zena in her first moments.

  A filmy cloud slid across the moon's watching face. Tendrils from the cloud reached down, far down, all the way to the earth and touched her arm. Zena felt them like fingers, drawing her toward the mountain. Something waited for her there; she could feel it, almost smell it. She must hurry.

  Darkness enclosed her as she entered the woods. She could see the dim outlines of trunks, a ghostly network of branches against the pale sky, but the solid reality of trees dissolved into moving shadows when she looked too hard. She left them with relief and entered a narrow strip of marsh that bordered the mountain. Her feet squashed soddenly into dank vegetation, and a myriad of scents rose to her nostrils. She breathed them in, aware of each separate smell and then the mass of scents. They seemed to enter her through her eyes and ears as well as her nostrils, just as she thought she could smell the color of the brackish water as well as see it. All her senses were intermingled, fully alive.

  She came to a shallow pool and bent to drink. Her face stared back at her, startled, then split into many fragments as she splashed cool water against her skin. The ruffled surface settled again, reflecting the tall reeds that surrounded her. A vague track led her though them to higher ground. The foliage was dense now, and dripping with moisture. She pushed her way into it until the wall of green became impenetrable. There was no sign that any creature had ever ventured this way before. Zena stopped, uncertain.

  A flash of brilliant blue caught her eye as a bird flew past and settled on a rock beyond her. Its feathers were the color of the sky in all its moods, from palest blue to sparkling turquoise to the ominous purple that preceded a storm. Long, golden streamers issued from its tail.

  Zena stared, entranced. Never before had she seen a bird like this one. She climbed toward it, to see better. The bird rose into the air with a flurry of wings and flew to another rock, farther on. Zena followed. The bird waited, but as soon as she approached, it flew on again.

  It was leading her, she realized, as a bird had once led the honey-digger while she watched. She followed unquestioningly, immersed in her quest. Up and up she went, straining her eyes to see in the dim predawn light.

  Everything around her spoke of mystery, of challenge. It flowed into her heart and pushed her forward, even when the way grew so steep she could barely stand without falling. Only once did she stop to rest. The bird waited patiently on a branch that hung directly above her head, so that she had to crane her neck backward to see it.

  She looked down from her precipitous perch. All the earth seemed to be below her now. Trees, plains, marshes, rocky hillsides, rivers and lakes spread away in an array so vast her eyes could scarcely encompass its dimensions. And as she watched, the orange orb of the sun popped suddenly over the horizon and covered it all in sparkling layers of brilliance. Every leaf and flower and twig in all that panorama held a drop of water, and every drop welcomed the sun's light and reflected it back in glittering splendor.

  Zena's eyes filled with tears at the spectacle; her tears caught the light, so that even within her there was radiance. She pulled it into her, marveling. The golden glow filled her completely, erasing her hunger, her fatigue, even the sadness that caught at her when her thoughts went for a moment to Ralak. It was all the same, she realized. The radiance was in the trees and grasses, the earth itself, as it was in her, in everything that lived. She breathed it in, felt it enter her body in waves of gold that she could see and hear and taste and smell.

  The bird's feathers flashed past her face; then it vanished into the mist. Zena scrambled after it. Now all her attention was focused on her movements, for the way was so steep and slippery she had to crawl. Water was everywhere, rushing down in streams and rivulets between the mossy rocks, the clumps of ferns and flowers. Multicolored and delicate, the flowers nodded on their tall stems like fragments of a scattered rainbow. Swaths of red and blue and purple and yellow dotted the hillside, and behind them all was the velvety green.

  The gurgle of rushing water became a thunderous racket as Zena scrambled higher. Rounding a bulky promontory, she discovered its cause. A massive waterfall cascaded from a cliff hundreds of feet above her head, plunging straight down in heavy, immutable torrents. A frenzy of white foam surged wildly below her feet. Sheer cliffs surrounded her on both sides.

  No one could go up this way, she realized. She would have to find another route.

  The bird waggled near her, catching her attention. To her horror, it flew straight into the waterfall and disappeared behind it. For the first time, she was afraid. Must she follow?

  The bird reappeared and repeated its maneuver. Reluctantly, Zena approached the falls, but when she came close, she saw that there was a small opening, just to the left of the major cascade. She squeezed through it and found herself in a protected place behind the crashing water. Even the thunderous noise was muted here, so that she could hear soft drips as moisture fell in glittering beads from the rocks above. There was no other movement, no sign of life, only the muffled splashes.

  She looked for the bird. It was perched on a ledge, watching her. She recognized it by its shape alone, for light barely penetrated the cavernous space, and the bird had lost its brilliance. It flew into a small tunnel. Zena crawled after it and emerged into another chamber. For a moment, she could see nothing, then her eyes adjusted and she saw that a wide pool spread across the entire space. The water was black, unmoving. Beyond that, all was darkness.

  The bird flew across the pool and landed on a half-submerged rock. Zena frowned. The bird could fly, but she would have to go through the water. It loomed before her, opaque, forbidding, and utterly still. Everything in the cave was still, except her fear as she faced the murky water. Her fear resonated in the silence, bounced into the dank air and then returned to lodge deep in her belly.

  Abruptly, the stillness was broken as hundreds of bats took flight. They poured from their hidden perches above Zena's head, flapping in strong, audible swaths as they swirled through the dark cavern. Zena felt the current from their wings touch her face, her hair, but not one of the flying animals touched her with its body. The scream that had risen in her throat subsided, and miraculously, her fear went with it.

  She waded into the inky pool. Water slapped at her chest but rose no farther, only cleansed her, pulled all the itching from her skin, the grime from her feet and legs. She relaxed into the pool's womblike softness, allowed it to enclose her, comfort her in its dark embrace. Its water was blessed; she was sure of it. She placed a hand on the glimmering surface in thanks as she slid from its gentle grasp.

  Echoes of the rustle of bats' wings, of water la
pping against rock as the pool settled again into stillness, bounced hollowly around her as she followed the bird up steep rocks that rose like steps in the back of the cavern. Then, suddenly, there was light ahead. Zena emerged into it and stared, surprised. She was more than halfway up the falls, but all around her were steep, water-drenched rocks, too treacherous to cross. Below her was a sheer drop into nothingness. She began to shake. A thick vine hung near her head. She grabbed it, to steady herself. Before her, the bird perched on another vine and waggled its tail. Zena took a deep breath and clutched the vine with both hands as she inched forward. Just as the vine slipped from her fingers, she grabbed another, and another, until she stood panting on a narrow ledge. She dared not look down; she looked up instead.

  A level swath of green beckoned. She crawled to it, almost weeping in relief to be away from the slippery rocks, and sank down to rest. For a long time, she lay quietly, listening to birds calling to each other in high, musical voices, feeling strength flow into her from the earth. Purple berries grew on low bushes near her; she ate them, and they seemed to relieve both her hunger and her fatigue. She rose to continue her climb. The brilliant bird stayed always visible before her.

  Abruptly, between one step and the next, she emerged from the clinging vegetation into sand-colored rock, heavily streaked with orange. Exquisite flowers, with delicate waxy faces like tiny gourds, grew in clumps between the rocks. Zena knelt to examine them, entranced by their beauty. A sweet smell permeated her nostrils; she drew it in and felt it swirl through her body. Looking up again, she saw that everything above her was open to the sky. Even the summit was visible. It rose above her, golden in the sunlight, as she had seen it in her vision.

  Slowly, she climbed the last distance and lowered herself onto a flat boulder where the bird had perched. She sensed she had come to the end of her journey, and she was right, for when she looked again for the bird, it had disappeared.

  For a moment, the valley spread below her once more, then the clouds closed in until she could see only the small area around her boulder. All else was wreathed in mist. Zena waited, aware of an intense stillness within her. There was no need to move, to search further. What she sought would come to her.

  Time passed, and she did not know it. There were only the scents, the sounds, the stillness in her body. Presently, she became aware of a rustling noise as something slithered toward her across the sandy soil. She sensed rather than saw what it was, and although her heart leaped into her throat when the huge snake stopped before her, she was not surprised. It was thick, as thick as her arms together, and wide stripes of coral and tan decorated its long body. The serpent never took its eyes from her face as it coiled itself by her feet and raised its flat, triangular head. Its forked tongue darted in and out of its mouth, and its small black eyes stared at her unblinkingly. It began to weave its head back and forth before her.

  Zena did not move. The breath went in and out of her body so slowly she could barely feel it. Only her eyes responded, widening almost imperceptibly in fear that was not really fear, so tinged was it with fascination. She knew that if she moved the snake would strike, but she knew, too, that it did not matter, that nothing mattered except to watch the snake and follow its movements.

  She stared into the snake's eyes, and as she stared, they became pools, and then they were one great pool of blackness that held everything she had ever known or heard, everything that was. She saw Kalar's eyes there, and Ralak's, and the eyes of many others, wise ones. All their knowledge, their awareness and wisdom, lay submerged in the fathomless depths of the serpent's gaze. Zena drew it in, through her eyes, her ears, her skin and nostrils, and felt it settle in her heart.

  The snake's venom was there, too, its power; she did not forget. If she broke the connection, it would be merciless. It would strike and she would die.

  She swayed with it instead, slowly, in perfect rhythm, drowning in its eyes. Down and down she flowed into the depths of all that had happened before, all that would come to be. And slowly she knew what it meant to accept; to accept was all. There was no other way, only to absorb and to know all that came to her from the deep pool of wisdom in the snake's eyes. And when she knew that this was so, with her heart and body as well as her mind, she emerged from the depths of the all-encompassing blackness. Now all was radiance, as she had seen it earlier, except this radiance was so great it could not be absorbed. It washed over and through her and out upon the earth. Voices came through it, Kalar's voice and Ralak's, the voices of all those who would come after to live and die by the Mother's ways. They spoke to Zena, only there were no words. Their messages came from the knowledge of their bodies, knowledge distilled from the earth and sky. Zena felt the power that came from their wisdom, as if a cord as thick as the serpent connected her to a place deep within the earth, then stretched high into the sky to touch the sun and the moon. They were her body and she was theirs, inseparable. To break the cord would be to risk not just her death but the death of the earth as well, for all life was the same. One life merged into another; each returned to the earth so that new life could begin again. And all of it was the earthforce and the Mother.

  The wisdom coursed through Zena, wisdom that came to her body and heart when her mind forgot its struggle to comprehend. She felt it fill a secret place inside her, a place that had waited, haunted in its emptiness, while she had raged against the Mother. There was nothing in her now but her body's knowledge of earthquakes and storms, of droughts and floods that had come and would always come, of the passage of the cool, impervious moon through its phases, of the rains that would drench the earth or stubbornly refuse to fall. Above them all was the sun, the glorious sun, pouring its warmth onto the earth. It pulled the plants, the trees and flowers upward with its energy, then sucked all moisture from the land with its brutal heat. Like the rains, it gave life and took it away. Always it was so.

  Still now, quiescent, she felt another truth emerge. The Mother was the earthforce, as Ralak had said, but She was more. The earthforce was all that had ever happened, all that would come as the moon grew round, then shrank to a sliver, as the sun rose and disappeared, as the rains came and the earth cracked apart with drought. The Mother was all these things and more. She was the very best of all that came to their minds and hearts: the caring that bound them to each other, the hope they carried with them when an infant was born, the joy they felt when the rains came, even the pleasure of an unexpected piece of ripe fruit, or a brilliant bird or flower. The Mother was their sorrow when illness came, their pain when She took the ones they loved back to Her heart in death. Even as they grieved, She gave them something precious, in the caring they felt for the one who suffered, in their awareness of Her all-encompassing heart, the heart that absorbed them once more when they ceased to breathe. The Mother was wisdom and knowledge and love.

  Zena opened herself to the Mother. No thoughts, no feelings intruded as she sat motionless, knowing only the Mother. Time passed that was not time, for each instant was as brief as the darting of the snake's tongue, even as it stretched to encompass all the time that had ever passed.

  Slowly, so slowly she did not know it had happened, Zena crumpled to the earth and slept.

  *******************************

  When she opened her eyes, the snake was gone. For a moment, Zena wondered if it had been there at all, or if she had only dreamed its presence. But then she looked down at the earth by her feet and saw its skin. It had shed its skin as she had shed the skin of her childish anger.

  She reached down to touch the transparent tissue, as if to touch herself as a child for the last time. Then she jumped to her feet, compelled by a sudden sense of urgency that drove all other thoughts away. Ralak had been with her on the mountain; Zena had felt her thoughts, known her presence. But now the wise woman's strength was almost gone. Zena could feel it fading. The earthforce, the Mother, were waiting to reclaim her.

  Heedless of the steep descent, Zena began to run. She slithered
and tumbled down the mountain, barely noticing the steep, slippery cliffs, the wild scramble beside the waterfall or the struggle to part the heavy vegetation that followed. All her energy was focused on reaching Ralak. Only when she found herself beyond the marsh and entering the woods did a brief awareness of her route return, and she wondered how she had managed to find her way without the bird to guide her.

  Terror drove the thought from her mind as she raced through the trees and into the clearing. She did not see the others; she saw only the shelter, then Ralak's face. She was still, too still. Her eyes were closed, her skin waxen. Zena knelt beside her, fear thudding in her heart. She had never been able to speak to Kalar again, but she wanted to hear Ralak's voice, just one more time.

  "Please," she breathed to the Mother, "please let her live a moment longer."

  As if she had heard, Ralak slowly opened her eyes. Zena took her hand, so thin now it was no more than a bare bit of skin with bones beneath, like the fragile skeleton of a baby bird that had never eaten. But though it came as no more than a whisper, there was still power in Ralak's voice.

  "You have been to the mountain," she said, staring into Zena's face. "Good." She smiled, and some of the old spark came into her eyes.

  "Now you are of the Mother, truly Hers. But still you must find food and water, as the others do. The Mother trips those who become proud."

  The typically pungent words brought a smile to Zena's anxious face. She would not forget them. The smile faded quickly as humility poured into her. Ralak was dying, and now she must be the wise one. She must learn to be like Ralak, like Kalar and all the other wise ones who had come before and would come after. It was an awesome challenge.

  Ralak spoke again, but now the power had left her voice, and Zena knew she was almost gone.