CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  Bushes ahead caught her eye. Perhaps there would be berries on their branches. They would be welcome for their moisture even more than as food.

  The bushes began to move strangely. There was something behind them, she realized as she came closer, something that looked like the heads of others like themselves - only they were not like themselves. They had the slanted foreheads and heavy jaws of Big Ones, but they were smaller, much smaller. Dirt smeared their faces, and they were thin, undernourished.

  They emerged from the bushes, each clutching a stick or rock. There were many of them, and the fierceness in their eyes frightened Zena. They moved toward her, staring hungrily at the baskets, the gourds, at Three-Legs, the children too.

  "Put the young ones behind," she ordered quietly. Perhaps these Fierce Ones meant no harm, but she did not think so. They moved as a leopard moved when it stalked its prey.

  Alerted by their predatory stance, Three-Legs galloped away and scrambled up the side of the steep escarpment. Unencumbered by Clio, whose leg had healed well enough for her to walk some of the time at least, Three-Legs moved fast. She was out of sight before the Fierce Ones could sling rocks in her direction, and Zena was glad. They had no meat to trade this time.

  "Sticks, and rocks. Quickly!" Bran's voice was firm, but there was terrifying urgency in it. His eyes were fixed on the face of the largest male.

  The Fierce Ones came close and pointed to the basket Nyta carried. Grunting, one of them reached out to take it.

  "Give them one?" Zena suggested, looking at Bran to see if he agreed. Bran nodded, and held out his basket. The biggest male snatched it and ran off, holding it tightly against his chest. The others did not follow, but crowded close and tried to snatch more baskets. One grabbed a gourd and shook it. Water splashed out and his eyes lit up with astonishment. The others grabbed at gourds too. They uttered guttural sounds of threat as they reached, and their hands were insistent, demanding.

  Fear caught Zena so hard she was dizzy for a moment. The Fierce Ones would not be satisfied with one basket, even two. They wanted all the baskets, all the gourds. If they gave them up, her tribe would have no food, no water. They could not survive without the water.

  One of the Fierce Ones pointed at Sima. He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away from the group. Quickly, Zena thrust Sima behind her, protecting her with her body. The Fierce One reached for Clio instead. Kropor roared and lashed out with his stick. It hit the male squarely on the head, and he dropped. The others moved closer, growling.

  "Run! Take the young ones and run!" Bran whirled as he spoke and swung his stick hard from side to side, to make the Fierce Ones back off so the others could escape. Kropor joined him, brandishing his bloodied stick, and Lotan stood just behind, ready to club any Fierce One that dared to move.

  Zena obeyed unquestioningly. Pulling Sima with her, she tucked the screaming Clio under one arm and ran. The other women followed with the frightened children. As soon as they were out of sight of the Fierce Ones, Zena left them hiding in a dense clump of bushes and ran clumsily back to see what was happening with the men.

  The sickening sound of sticks hitting flesh came to her even before she reached the scene. Suddenly, she smelled fire. There was an abrupt silence, then she heard a series of yells and the sound of running feet. Zena sprinted as fast as she could, desperate to know what had happened.

  Coming closer, she saw that the bushes were burning. She stopped, perplexed. How had they caught fire? And the Fierce Ones were running, fleeing as if their lives depended on it. Gourds and baskets littered the ground behind them. Bran and the other men were watching them, open-mouthed with astonishment. Suddenly Bran turned to Lupe and hugged him.

  "You have made them run!" he shouted excitedly. "It was the fire that made them run, not our sticks!"

  Lupe hugged him back, thrilled at the praise. At eight, he was too small to fight the fierce ones, but he was also unwilling to run away with the other children. Instead, he had tried to think how he could help. All day, he had carried a burning stick despite the heat. When he saw that the Fierce Ones were hurting Bran, he had plunged it into the bushes, trying to create a distraction. Dry as tinder, they had blazed furiously. The Fierce Ones had stared at the fire, then at the stick that had caused such magic, and then they had run as fast as they could go.

  "We must get away quickly, while they are afraid," Bran said, gathering up the baskets and gourds.

  Zena nodded distractedly. Her mind was full of questions. Bran and the other men had looked so eager when they had faced the fierce ones, as if they relished the opportunity to fight. Women would fight, too, especially if the young ones were threatened, but she had never seen that eagerness on their faces, nor felt it herself. Why were the men so different?

  Still pondering the question, she scrambled up the side of the escarpment to look for Three-Legs, and found her grazing peacefully on the lush grasses that grew in abundance on the plateaus. The others followed eagerly, glad to escape the oppressive heat as well as the Fierce Ones.

  Unlike the other plateaus, this one seemed to run north, Zena noticed hopefully. Perhaps they would be able to travel up here. Her hopes were dashed when she saw the line of jagged cliffs that rose all along its northern edge, blocking the way. And even if they could negotiate the cliffs, the land behind them fell away into nothingness, as it always did, making travel impossible.

  Too drained to absorb still another disappointment, she concentrated on finding a place to sleep. They might not be able to travel on the plateau, but they could at least spend the night. To shiver a little would be wonderful, after all the nights they had spent trying to endure the stultifying air.

  Lotan spotted a pile of boulders under one of the steep, overhanging cliffs, with an open space in front for their fire. It was a good, secure place, and Zena was glad. They needed to feel safe, after their frightening adventure.

  "I felt sorrow for the Fierce Ones," Sima said later, as they sat around the fire. "They looked very hungry, and the bones of the young ones had nothing on them. But they frightened me too. Their eyes were so hard."

  "I wonder that they do not live up here, instead of remaining in the hot valley," Lotan commented.

  "Perhaps they do not know how to change," Zena answered. "The Mother may not have given all of us the ability to think of new ways to find food, new places to live.

  "I, too, felt sorrow for them," she added, "especially the young ones. Still, they would have taken all our food and water, our tools, if Bran and Kropor and Lotan had not protected us so well. And Lupe, who frightened them away with fire.

  "It was because of you, all of you," she said, looking into their eyes one at a time, "that we are safely here now. You were brave. To fight Fierce Ones like that takes great courage. I thank you, and the Mother thanks you."

  "It is your job to lead us," Bran responded, "but it is my job to keep the tribe safe.

  "It is good Kropor has returned, " he added. "We might need to fight more Fierce Ones." He looked pleased at the thought and raised his fist, as if to deliver a blow.

  Zena frowned, wondering how he could possibly look forward to another encounter. Then her eyes opened wide as understanding came. That was why the Mother had made males as She had. They needed to be aggressive so they would welcome a fight when fighting was necessary. Otherwise, a whole tribe could be killed. Their belligerence was bad only if there was too much of it, or it came out too easily. As Ralak had once said, some men had too much of the harsh earthforce in them. Kropor had been like that, until Ralak had helped him to change.

  She sighed, glad to have this mystery finally resolved, but more than ever conscious of the responsibility she carried. A strong wise one made the difference, Kalar had often said, for then she could help the men to control their aggression so the tribe could live in peace. This she must never forget.

  She lay down with the others to sleep, but her mind would not rest. A higher route must exist; in her visions, she had
seen them traveling in a lush green valley, not a menacing, waterless desert. To find it was more important than ever now. Bran might not mind another confrontation with the fierce ones, but Zena had no intention of taking such a risk.

  Zena opened her mind to the Mother, and listened as hard as she had ever listened. But no clear message came. She had only a terrible sense of unease, as if something were wrong, and beyond it, a feeling of hope. There would be wrongness, and then somehow, a solution. With that, she had to be content.

  She woke later in the night, certain now that something was terribly wrong. The feeling was in the air, in the earth, in everything around her. Slipping from the shelter, she stared out at the moonlit night. Nothing looked amiss. Stars littered the sky, and there was no wind, no sign that a storm was coming. Only the clouds looked different. Heavy and edged with black, they moved as if they owned the sky. They were gathering with incredible speed; even as she watched, they blotted out the whole firmament of stars she had seen a moment ago. Soon, only the half-grown moon was visible behind them. It shone through their mass, giving them an ominous, unearthly glow.

  Zena turned away, and as she turned she saw that one star still remained, high above the cliffs. It was the brightest star of all, and always pointed north. She stared at it, as if seeking confirmation for the journey she had initiated. If the star was still there, guiding her, perhaps they would be all right, despite the travails they had endured, might still endure.

  Another glow to the west caught her attention. She had been watching the smoking mountain for days now, certain it would soon explode. She thought they were too far away for it to harm them, but still she worried. Now flames as well as smoke were erupting from its bowl-shaped top. Probably, she realized, the impending explosion was the cause of her distress - but somehow that did not feel quite right.

  Fiery hunks of molten rock shot suddenly into the air and soared in huge arcs before they hit the ground. Zena could not see where they landed, but she was certain fires would break out there, fires so hot and intense nothing could escape. She shivered convulsively, glad to be far away.

  She whirled at a noise behind her. Three-Legs had burst from the shelter and was galloping headlong down the hill. Clio sprang out after her, but Zena did not think she had seen the gazelle, or saw anything else. The wildness in the child's eyes was stronger than Zena had ever seen it before.

  A prickle of terror ran up her spine. Something was wrong. She was not the only one who felt it. Three-Legs felt it, and Clio... Clio, who was so close to the earthforce.

  Kropor appeared, rubbing his eyes. Behind him, an infant began to wail, and then another started, and within moments, all of them were crying. Kropor paid no attention. Grabbing Clio before she could run, he tied a stout rope around her waist and followed as she began to dance and leap. He always did this now, when the moon attracted her, or when a storm came, so he could keep her from hurting herself again. But the moon was not full, and there was no storm.

  A tremor shook the earth under Zena's feet. Another came, then another, and suddenly, she knew. This was the thing she had feared.

  "Out!" she screamed. "Away from the rocks!" She charged toward the shelter. Already, Bran and Lotan and the others were pulling the children out.

  "Down," Bran yelled. "Down to the fields below. It is safest there."

  Within moments, all of them but Clio and Kropor were huddled close together in a small hollow, well below the cliffs. They were just in time, for another, stronger tremor shook the ground. Rocks crashed above them, and dust and debris rained down on their heads. The earth seemed to swell and then suddenly collapse, rolling them wildly in all directions. Zena was jostled forcefully against Toro, but when she reached for Sima, who had been nestled against her, she was gone. The heavy clouds had completely obscured the moon now, and she could see nothing.

  She jumped up to look for Sima, but before she could take a step, still another tremor shook the earth and knocked her down again. Now she could not feel any of the others around her, except for Toro.

  She yelled Sima's name and the names of each of the others. Crashing rocks and ominous rumblings drowned out her voice, but she kept calling anyway, hoping they would finally hear and find their way to her. Sima cried out from somewhere below; then Zena heard Nyta's voice, and soon the others answered. They crawled toward her, unable to stand, as the earth continued to heave and shake. She counted them off as they appeared. They were bruised and frightened, but no one was badly hurt.

  Only Lotan was missing now. No. There was no sign of Metep either. Bran and Toro jumped up to look for them, while Zena stayed to guard the others. The tremors seemed to have stopped, but they could start again without warning.

  The moon slid out from behind the bulky clouds, and at just that moment, Bran's voice sounded below her.

  "I have found them. Metep is not moving, but the infant is all right, and Lotan, too."

  Bran and Toro appeared, their figures ghostlike against the background of jumbled rock and thick dust that still hung in the air. They were carrying Metep, and Lotan limped beside them.

  Bran laid Metep gently on the ground. Her eyes opened briefly and she moaned. Zena passed her fingers over the young woman's skull, trying to feel what she could not see. There was blood, still sticky, and a cut. Her shoulder was cut, too. Perhaps a rock had fallen on her?

  "I cannot tell until morning," she said, "unless we make a fire. I think the earthquake is finished."

  The appearance of Kropor carrying Clio, with Three-Legs trotting behind, seemed to confirm her words. If Clio had fallen asleep and Three-Legs had returned, the danger was probably over. Clio especially would feel the earthquake's vibrations if they still lingered beneath the ground.

  Bran went to see if there were any burning sticks left from their fire. He returned quickly, carrying only a basket.

  "The earthquake has swallowed our fire," he told them, his voice tremulous with awe. "It has swallowed the whole place, the fire, the clearing, even the cliffs."

  Zena closed her eyes, tying to absorb the message. The earth had opened up where they had lain and swallowed everything. It could have swallowed them as well.

  "Great Mother," she said simply, "we thank You with all our hearts for warning us."

  The others murmured thanks, too, and all of them sat very still for a long moment, thinking of this miracle. Then they set about the practical task of making another fire. By its light, Zena could see that Metep's cuts were not deep.

  "She will be all right; I am almost certain of it," she told Toro, who was peering anxiously over her shoulder.

  They settled down to try to sleep while they waited for the light to come again. None but the children succeeded very well, and Zena was glad when a faint glow from the east told her the sun was almost up. She rose slowly and went out to see what had happened to the cliff.

  No jagged peaks showed against the pale sky; instead, there was nothing but rubble. Zena climbed up on the tumbled boulders and looked longingly to the north, where she wanted so badly to go. She stared, looked away, then stared again. Tears began to pour down her cheeks, and she gasped in wonderment.

  The route was there. The earthquake had carved it for her. The cliff was gone, and so was the chasm that had blocked their way. Where they had been were jumbled rocks, easy to cross, and then a long, gradual descent through rocky hillsides into a valley, a valley so lustrous and beautiful her heart leaped into her throat at the sight. A river wound through it, sparkling in the early morning sun; there were trees and grasses, and animals of all kinds. Far beyond, so far she had to squint to see, stretched a great body of water, so wide and vast it had no end.

  Overcome with emotion, Zena fell to her knees. The cliffs had opened, so they could go through. The Mother had given them a way.

  For a long time, she was too stunned to move or even speak. She looked up, as if seeking the Mother somewhere in the vastness above. The star was still there, faint now against the pale sky
. She raised a hand to it in thanks, then she rose slowly to her feet.

  Without volition, her arms opened wide to embrace the scene below. Her voice rang out, strong and powerful, as she thanked the Mother. The others heard, and came running, and when they saw what Zena had seen, they, too, spread their arms wide and chanted their thanks. Stronger and stronger their voices rose, until all the land reverberated with the sounds.

  Then, when they were certain the Mother had heard them, and knew of the love and gratitude in their hearts, their voices died away. Gathering up the children, they began the descent into the paradise that awaited them below.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Zena watched flamingos drop from the sky and settle in a rosy cloud on the water. Thousands upon thousands of them came, so many that the lake turned deep pink with their jostling bodies. Sweeping their heads from side to side in broad swaths, they skimmed up the blue-green algae that grew thickly in the salt-infested water. Any other bird or animal that ventured into this lake would die. Only the flamingos could tolerate its salinity. The long-legged birds seemed to know they were safe. They did not interrupt their feeding to watch for predators, nor did they bother to hide the nests they built on raised mounds above the shallow water. There was no need. No other creature could reach them.

  At some unseen signal, the flamingos rose again and flapped over Zena's head, their wings flashing scarlet against the brilliant sky. Shading her eyes with one hand, she stared in wonderment. She had seen the spectacle of their flight many times before, but it still amazed her. Everything about the valley they had found amazed her, and she thanked the Mother constantly for bringing them to this wondrous place. All they needed, and far more, was here. Another lake with fresh, clear water harbored an abundance of fish and turtles and clams. Just as bountiful was the wide river that wound lazily through the center of the valley. Along its banks grew broad-leaved trees, their branches heavy with sumptuous fruit. Smaller trees nearby were laden with shiny black objects Zena had never seen before. Their taste was strange but delicious. Streams bubbled down from the hillsides, and clumps of bushes littered with berries decorated their banks. There were animals in abundance. Like the fruit, they were bigger and fatter than any Zena had ever seen. Even the lions and tigers they saw were larger than usual. At first Zena and the others had been alarmed, but the huge beasts paid no attention to them except to stare lazily from time to time, for their stomachs were easily filled with larger and tastier prey.