CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  Momentarily cheered, he began to run through the shadowy woods. The jostling movements woke Clio; again, he closed his ears to her agonized cries. He had to find Zena and the others before they had gone so far he would never be able to find them.

  Another thought broke through his preoccupation. Ralak had asked him to keep Clio safe, and he had failed. Over and over, the thought repeated itself, an agonizing refrain that kept time to his hurrying feet. He ran faster, to escape it. He ran until the sun was high, and then he knew he had to stop for a moment to rest. Clio was struggling desperately, and he did not think he could hold on to her any longer.

  He lowered her carefully to the ground, fearing that the movement would hurt her even more. But her wails stopped immediately. She pushed against the damp earth, trying to rise to her feet. One of her legs folded under her. She stared at Kropor helplessly, howling in pain and frustration. She wanted to follow as she had always followed, and she could not. He pulled her into his arms, murmuring soothing noises, but his efforts to comfort her were unavailing.

  He lumbered on. Finally, Clio stopped crying, worn out with the effort, and lay limp and quiet in his arms. Kropor was relieved. The light had almost gone, and he was tired, so tired he had to make a conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other. He knew he should stop, but the scent of the others was getting stronger, and he could not bear to give up yet.

  A big fallen tree blocked his way. Kropor struggled across it, and suddenly the scent of the others was all around him, distinct and unmistakable. They had been here - all of them had been here - not too long ago. He studied the ground, straining to see in the darkness. Their footprints were everywhere, deeply embedded in the still-damp earth. There were other prints, too, the prints of a leopard. He shivered. If a leopard prowled the area, he must move on quickly.

  Excitement and fear revived his flagging strength, and as soon as he emerged from the woods, he broke into a run. The sudden movement woke Clio, and she began to cry again. Her screams pierced the quiet night. Over and over, she screamed, then settled into a steady, monotonous crying.

  A different scent came unexpectedly to Kropor's sensitive nostrils. It was fire! He smelled fire! They must be ahead somewhere. He staggered toward the smell, not stopping even when he twisted his ankle sharply. He had run now for two days without food, and he dared not stop lest he fall and be unable to get up again.

  The smell of fire grew stronger. Then he saw it, glowing in a nearby clump of trees. A figure sprang up against the fire. Another figure appeared, then another. Kropor ran toward them, too exhausted even to call out, but through his daze, he heard them calling, heard them shouting Clio's name.

  The fire was close now, right in front of him. Kropor stood still and held out the bundle in his arms. He was conscious of Clio's weight disappearing as hands reached out to take her from him. Then he swayed and fell to the ground.

  Confusion surrounded him. He heard voices, felt someone press a gourd to his lips. The soothing water ran down his throat and across his face. Another sound broke though his stupor. It was Clio's voice. She was calling for him with the odd little croak she had developed, to let him know she needed him. He struggled up and went to her.

  She reached for his hand and clutched it, refusing to let go. Kropor held it gladly. Someone moved beside him, and he saw that it was Zena, examining Clio. His terrified eyes searched her face, seeking reassurance.

  "She is all right," Zena assured him. "Her leg is broken, and she has knocked her head hard. But she will live."

  A great sigh escaped Kropor's lips. Clio would not die. She would not disappear, as Ralak had, and leave him alone, with no one to care for. Zena had said she would live, and so she would. Perhaps he had kept her safe, after all. Still holding Clio's hand, he lay down beside her to rest, his big, stooped body curved protectively around the tiny child.

  Zena stared down at them, trying to understand. Somehow, Ralak's strange little one had penetrated Kropor's grief, as he had penetrated her isolation. She had never seen Clio reach out to hold a hand before, or call to anyone, and never before had she seen Kropor's eyes brimming with tenderness, except for Ralak. How had they become so attached to each other?

  Lotan's hand touched her shoulder. "You were right," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "The Mother was watching Clio, and that is why you felt peace. She sent Clio to Kropor, so he could keep her safe."

  Zena nodded, thinking that the Mother's ways were surely wondrous. Then, unexpectedly, Ralak's face appeared in her mind, eclipsing thoughts of the Mother. Zena saw her as clearly as if Ralak were standing before her. She was smiling and her eyes glittered with mischief. Her mouth opened in speech, and although her words made no sound, Zena heard them distinctly.

  "Kropor needed another one to love," she said. "And Clio needed help. So, here they are!"

  Ralak's face disappeared. Zena began to laugh, and Lotan looked at her, frowning. How could she laugh at such a time?

  Zena glanced at him apologetically. "The Mother's ways can be remarkable," she told him, "especially when Ralak helps Her."

  Lotan did not look convinced, but his joy at seeing Clio again quickly drove all other thoughts from his mind. He stared down at the sleeping child. Zena had given her herbs to drink, to quiet her and lessen the pain. She was scratched and bloody, and she smelled like an animal. Lotan wrinkled his nose. Clio hated being washed, but he would have to wash her anyway, as soon as the light came again. The smell was very strong.

  They lingered in the area for two more days, while Zena treated Clio's leg and Kropor recovered his strength. No one wanted to travel anyway. They were too excited by the miracle of Clio's and Kropor's return. Sima kept hugging Clio over and over, despite her objections, and Toro gazed at Kropor with longing in her eyes. Once, they went off together to mate, but Kropor did not linger long, and soon returned to Clio's side. Still, Toro looked happier than she had since the big male's disappearance.

  By the third day, they were ready to set out again. Kropor hoisted Clio into his arms. She tolerated her position for a few hours, then she began to struggle, trying to get down. Her leg did not hurt now and she wanted to walk. Kropor tried to calm her, but she only wriggled harder, screaming furiously. Unable to hold on to her any longer, he put her down, looking baffled.

  Zena stared at Clio in exasperation. She had become increasingly restless as their journey was delayed, and she was anxious to move on. Must they stay in one place until Clio's leg healed? Surely, there must be a way to carry her that would not bother her so much.

  She scanned the area, seeking inspiration. Her eyes lit on Three-Legs. Clio adored her, as she adored all animals. Perhaps she would sit on the gazelle's back. Three-Legs was strong now, and big enough to hold a child as tiny as Clio. But would the gazelle tolerate her presence?

  She led Three-Legs over to Clio and let the child rub her hands against the soft fur, as she loved to do. Then she put a leash around the gazelle's neck and handed it to Sima.

  "Hold her still," she instructed. Sima nodded confidently. Three-Legs followed her now, as she had once followed Zena, and Sima could always calm her down.

  Moving slowly, Zena picked Clio up and placed her on the small gazelle's back, so that one leg hung down each side. Three-Legs jumped skittishly, but Sima rubbed her nose and uttered soothing noises, and she quickly stilled.

  Clio's body went rigid. Her eyes opened wide in astonishment and her face puckered as if she were going to scream. But it was not a scream that emerged. Instead, Clio laughed, a small, croaking sound that they knew was a laugh because her normally expressionless eyes lit up with glee. She was part of an animal now. She could touch it any time she wanted, and it would not run away.

  The others shook their heads in amazement. Kropor, however, looked worried, and went to stand next to Clio so he could catch her if she fell. But Clio had no intention of relinquishing her new position, and held on firmly. She rode Three-Legs as if she belonged there, a
nd her whole body radiated delight.

  The small procession set off once more. Zena and Bran strode in front, leading the way. Behind them came Sima, holding Three-Legs, with Clio on top and Kropor close beside. Nyta and Toro and Metep clustered around them, carrying the little ones, and Lotan and Lupe guarded from the rear.

  Every day, they proceeded in this fashion. They started at dawn, while the air was cool and refreshing, and walked until the sun was high. During the hottest part of the day, they sought shade under one of the wide-crowned trees that dotted the plains, then they walked again until dusk, gathering food as they went. At night, they sheltered in a clump of trees or near a pile of boulders, with fire to protect them. They brought burning sticks with them as they traveled, but the knowledge that they could create a new fire if all the sticks burned out was immensely reassuring. Everywhere they went, they looked for the special stones that gave off sparks, and saved them in their baskets.

  Only twice did they stop for more than a night or a few hours of rest. The first delay came when Three-Legs spotted a herd of gazelles like herself. All during their time in the woods, she had seen no other gazelles, and Zena thought she had forgotten about them. She was wrong. Once Three-Legs had spotted the herd, she was uncontrollable. Wrestling the leash from Sima's hands, she dashed forward, unseating Clio. Fortunately, Kropor was close and caught Clio before she hit the ground, already screaming with indignation. This was her special perch, and she did not want it to go away.

  But Three-Legs could not be stopped. She disappeared among the gazelles, still trailing the leash behind her. Later, Zena saw her mating, and wondered at the strength of this impulse. It was mating, more than a desire for the company of her own kind, that had once again drawn Three-Legs to the herd.

  They waited all the following day and the next, hoping the gazelle would return as she had before. And just as they were preparing to sleep the second day, she trotted back to them as if nothing had happened. Zena tethered her, so she would not leave again, but the mating seemed to have satisfied her, and she made no further effort to rejoin the herd.

  The second enforced stop came when Nyta's infant was born. The birth was easy and Nyta did not suffer, but Zena knew immediately that something was terribly wrong with the infant. The tiny boy's head was misshapen, and his limbs were not fully formed. Worse, he seemed to be in pain. His tiny face was puckered in agony, and he was gasping for breath.

  Sorrowfully, she handed him to Nyta. Tears streamed down the older woman's face as she looked at her newborn son, but she recovered quickly and handed him back to Zena.

  "He suffers," she whispered, still weak from the birth. "We must send him back to the Mother. He cannot live, but we must not let him suffer."

  Zena nodded. Holding the infant tenderly in the crook of one arm, she placed her hand over his mouth and nose until he stopped breathing, as she had seen Kalar do long ago, when an infant like this had been born. To let an infant suffer was unforgivable. That was not the Mother's way.

  "Great Mother, Giver of All Life," she said quietly, "take this little one back to Your heart. Though he has no name, we cared for him, and our caring goes with him. Nyta loved him most of all, for she carried him under her heart for many moons. Now he is with You again, and will suffer no more. For that, we are grateful."

  The others gathered around as she placed the dead infant among a clump of rocks and covered him with branches. To lose a child was sad, but to keep one that suffered and would not live anyway was wrong. It was the job of a wise one to help an infant like this return to the Mother as quickly as possible, and they were glad Zena was with them to do it.

  When Nyta felt strong enough, they resumed their journey, traveling slowly but steadily, always with the rising sun on their right, the setting sun on their left, as Zena had seen them in her vision.

  One day, as she lifted Clio onto her perch, Zena was surprised to see that Three-Legs' belly was beginning to swell. Could the Mother have given her another young one? Once before, not long after she had disappeared the first time, she had given birth, but the calf had not been strong and had died within a few hours. Three-Legs had stood over it all day, as if mourning: then she had seemed to forget about it and had come back to Zena.

  It seemed strange to Zena that each time a calf began to grow inside Three-Legs, she had recently run off to be with other gazelles. Could mating have something to do with it? The Mother had placed a young one in her belly not long after she had first mated with Lotan. But that did not make sense. How could mating be connected to infants or calves?

  Zena puzzled over the enigma, but no solution came to her, and after a while she gave up thinking about it. Other, more immediate concerns demanded her attention, as the land became drier, the way more difficult. But her mind did not relinquish the question entirely. The possibility that mating and young ones were somehow connected lingered just below the level of conscious awareness, as if waiting for the time when she would fully understand.

  ***********************

  For fifteen million years, tons of burning rock smoldered and shuddered deep within the earth's molten womb, until finally they forced two great land masses to split apart. Thus was the Great Rift Valley of Africa born. Longer and wider than any valley in the world, it dominated the landscape, influenced all the life forms in eastern Africa.

  Hot beyond imagining, the viscous mass poured in triumph through the giant trough it had so relentlessly labored to create. The triumph was short-lived, for as it hit the air, the cooling lava hardened and shrank, then cracked in pieces, so that more of the molten stuff could squeeze through. Again, it cooled, again it cracked. Over and over, the lava poured through and cooled and cracked, until all the land was broken into massive, separate chunks.

  As if sliced by a giant hand, some of the huge pieces tumbled into gaping holes left by the escaping lava. Falling even below the level of the sea, they formed vast deserts of unendurable heat. Over the eons of time, oceans moved in to cover the places where the land had sunk; then they slowly retreated. Wide stretches of gray-white plains, and enormous salt formations that looked for all the world like waves and foam that had been ossified and left to die, lay exposed behind them. Brackish grasses shimmered in the heat, and hot springs bubbled up, death to any that came mistakenly to drink.

  On either side of the baking plains, the red-hot rock pushed far into the air to create high plateaus and jagged peaks, black as the lava that had formed them. The rivers came then and poured between the plateaus, eroding their sides into escarpments so steep no vegetation could take root. The erosion came faster, the escarpments became steeper, until chasms thousands of feet deep prevented any creature but a bird from traveling between them. But from the valley floor, the plateaus were accessible. There, they sloped up gradually, and trees and grasses grew in abundance on their gentle hillsides, luring the unwary traveler. Their promise was deceptive, for the land soon split again and there was nothing to be seen below but another deep cleft, impossible to cross.

  Above it all, the mountains loomed, dominating the landscape. Some were so high few animals could breathe with ease, if they managed to climb their summits. Others had bowl-shaped tops and belched out smoke and fire that shimmered in the heat-laden air. Once, the volcanoes had smoked and sputtered beneath seas that had long ago rubbed their peaks to smoothness. They smoldered still, and when the pressure of molten rock against hard crust was strong enough, they exploded. Earthquakes followed, and fires, and floods and droughts, leaving behind them piles of steaming rubble and tumbled boulders, or huge expanses of smooth black lava and endless sands, where nothing grew.

  Sometimes, though, amidst the desolation and violence, there emerged places of unearthly beauty, places where plants and trees, even birds and animals, grew larger and more fruitful than they ever had before. One such place lay at the northern edge of the great valley Zena and her tribe traversed. But this northern oasis, like all the others, was hard to reach. Deserts and smokin
g mountains blocked the way, and always, there were the impassable chasms that sliced the fractured land.

  Zena stared at such a chasm, and knew they could not go on. They had finally come to the high plateaus and smoking mountains she had seen in her vision. What her vision had not revealed was the desolation between the plateaus. There was no life anywhere in the baking gray-white valley below her, except for vultures that soared in endless circles. There was no water, either, only bubbling springs that smelled of rot, and brackish ponds with the same distinctive odor. Lotan had warned them away, remembering the two men who had died so cruelly.

  To avoid the terrible heat and dryness, they had trudged up countless plateaus, trying to find a higher route, where there was water and food and above all, coolness. Unless they could walk up here, in the highlands, Zena did not think they could go on. But each time, they had ended up in a place like this, where the land dropped away on all sides, staring helplessly into an impenetrable chasm. Each time, they had returned the way they had come, steeling themselves to endure the searing air that would soon assault their faces, their feet, their lungs.

  Wearily, Zena turned to retrace her steps once again. She moved slowly, for the infant within her was big now, and pressed against her legs. The others followed patiently, but she saw the exhaustion in their faces, heard the sighs and gasping breath they tried to conceal. For the first time, she wondered why she had brought them here, why she had undertaken the journey at all, and whether they would survive it. The savannah they had left seemed infinitely comforting.

  Heat hit like a physical barrier the moment they stepped onto the pale earth of the sunken valley floor. It pressed against their skin, pulled every drop of moisture from their bodies. Zena saw a thin ribbon of shade beneath an overhanging escarpment, and led them to it. But even here, they could not escape the sun's blinding glare, its scorching heat on their shoulders. The air was so hot they had to pant in an effort to cool it before it reached their lungs.