CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  This time, she grew so big she could hardly walk, and to her surprise, two infants rather than one emerged. Both were males, strong and healthy like their brother. After their birth, a year passed before the bleeding came again. Zena welcomed it as a familiar friend, and resumed her ritual of returning the sacred blood to the earth. When once again two moons passed without the flow, she did not worry but understood that still another infant was forming. The blood did not emerge, she realized, when a new life grew, but stayed within her to nourish the infant, as it nourished the earth. To her delight, the baby was a female. Zena called her Ceralak, after Cere and Ralak.

  As the years passed, Zena continued to give birth at frequent intervals. Three more daughters came next, then another son arrived, and much later, one last daughter was born. The other women also gave birth during these years, though not as often as Zena, for only to her did the Mother give the ability to start another child before the first was weaned. Metep bore two more infants, Toro one, and Sima and Filar each had four when they grew old enough to bear young. Nyta never bore another infant, but she helped to care for all the others. The Mother never gave an infant to Clio, either, and Zena was grateful. Clio would not have understood.

  Each time an infant was born, Zena performed a special ritual in the circle of stones, to thank the Mother who had given it life. Holding the little one in her arms, she spoke its name and asked the Mother for Her love and protection for the fragile new life. Then she sprinkled earth and water on the baby's body, so the Mother would know how much they valued these precious gifts. She was certain the Mother heard her, for most of the children survived the sicknesses that so often seemed to afflict little ones.

  She performed the ritual for infants born in nearby tribes as well. She visited them often, and like Kalar before her, she spoke to the people of the Mother and taught them to follow Her ways. As others had before them, they embraced the Mother eagerly, as if She had long been within them and needed only Zena's words to emerge. Zena made sure that the children from the various tribes also understood the Mother's ways. Most important, she told them, was to live in harmony with the Mother's creatures, and with each other. If any of them did harm another child, or an animal, her anger was strong. No one was permitted to speak to the offender until the child had apologized to the Mother and to all in the tribe. At the same time, she loved them all without restraint. Kropor's story had taught her a valuable lesson. A child who was treated badly by adults was easily led to violence. Her formula seemed to work, for children grew up to be peaceful and loving.

  Sima and Lupe organized games like the ones Zena had once created for them for the growing broods of children, as well as teaching them the ceremonies. There were many now, for death as well as birth, for the killing of an animal, though food was so plentiful that was seldom necessary, for the coming of the rains. The dance for rain was everyone's favorite. The ceremony had come to Zena one day as she communed with the Mother in the circle of stones. Her eyes had risen to the clouds that were heavy with impending rain, though so far no drops had fallen. Suddenly, the strange confusion she had felt when she had first created the circle of stones had overcome her again. Without volition, her feet began to move in rhythmic patterns, and she heard herself calling words. She felt as if another person had stepped into her body, that this other, rather than herself, was moving and speaking. The others had come to join her, infected by the power of her words and movements. They had stamped in rhythm with Zena's stamping, had shouted the words until their voices were hoarse, though they did not know why.

  Now, they performed the ceremony every year. As the rainy season approached, they gathered in the circle of stones to repeat the hypnotic movements. Over and over again, their feet stamped against the ground, their heads rose high toward the sky, then returned to the earth. Words came from them, the words for Mother, then the word for rain. At first, their voices were soft, the dance slow and relaxed. But soon the pace increased. Their feet stamped harder, faster, in an ever-increasing tempo, and their voices rang out in the dust-laden air, obscuring all other sounds. The women danced within the sacred circle, while the men danced just outside. Like Zena, they sensed the presence of others in their bodies as they moved, and they knew without thinking where they belonged.

  If thunder roared and lightning flashed while they were dancing, the pace became still more frenetic, their excitement even more intense. The men grabbed sticks and waved them in the air or pounded them against the earth, to imitate the thunder and lightning, and the women danced in delirious circles until they sank to the ground in exhaustion, only to rise and dance again. At these times especially, they felt truly a part of the earthforce, as they called its restless spirit back to the ground with their pounding feet, their swaying bodies and insistent voices, and held its awesome power within their hearts.

  The wild abandon of the dance helped them to understand Clio's behavior during storms, and to accept her death when it came. To whirl and stamp, calling on the earthforce to release its rain, its thunder and lightning, was intoxicating. Clio had been born with the dancing in her, Zena thought, for she had always been one with the earthforce. And even though she grieved at Clio's early death, it seemed fitting that it was the lightning she adored that killed her; fitting, too, that Kropor died with her.

  The storm that day was particularly violent. Clio charged out, with Kropor behind her, and ran to the top of the ridge. A huge old tree grew there, and she loved to leap and whirl beneath its curving branches. She had often danced there, but on this day, the lightning chose the tree as its conduit back to the earth. Thicker and brighter than any Zena had ever seen, the jagged streak tore through the gnarled old trunk and hit the ground, killing Clio and Kropor instantly.

  "The Mother has been kind," Zena said softly, when the shock of their death had subsided a little. "To lose Clio is hard, but to have the earthforce claim her in this way would have pleased her. And that the Mother took Kropor with her..."

  She did not have to speak further. No one wanted to imagine the agony Kropor would have suffered if Clio had been taken from him. It was best this way.

  "See," Sima added, her voice shaking with sorrow. "See; Kropor still holds her hand, and her lips touch his face."

  The others nodded. Clio and Kropor always slept close beside each other, with Clio's small fingers curled in Kropor's big palm, her soft lips close against his bristly cheek.

  They buried them that way, in a shallow hole near the base of the tree. Increasingly, they had come to believe that those who returned to the Mother should be enclosed in Her earth, from whence all life sprang. Covering them with fragrant blossoms, they chanted words to tell the Mother of their love for these two unique beings She had wrought. They spoke of Clio's closeness to the earthforce, of her special ways of knowing, her sweetness and love for animals. And when they spoke of Kropor, they spoke of change, how one with violence in his heart could become so kind and tender, so happy to give all, even his life, for those he loved. Once difficult, they told the Mother, this beloved male had become more compassionate than almost any other.

  When all had spoken, Zena commended Clio and Kropor to the Mother. "These two whom we have loved can now return to Your all-encompassing heart," she said, her voice strong with emotion. "Keep them with You, for they have served You well. And if it is possible, I ask that Kropor, and Clio, too, may now be reunited with Ralak. Kropor loved her more than any other besides Clio, and his face would light up with joy to see her again.

  "Great Mother, Giver of All Life, they are Yours again." Zena's last words hung for a moment in the air; then they began to fill the hole they had dug with moist, crumbling earth, to keep Clio and Kropor safe and warm.

  Three more times, in the years that followed, they gathered to perform the death rituals for members of Zena's original group. Nyta died first, for she was old and frail; Toro followed soon after. Their deaths were hard, but for Zena, Bran's death was hardest. She found him one evening b
y the lake, where he had gone to fish. Nothing had happened, she thought, except that he had simply ceased to breathe. As she knelt by the familiar form, her heart contracted with a grief so strong she had to gasp for breath. Not since the stampede had she felt such an agony of sorrow. Bran had been her stalwart friend, ready always to support and defend her. She would miss him terribly.

  Though her grief was strong, it did not linger. Lotan was still there to comfort her, and the tribe was growing so fast there was no time for sadness. More and more infants were born as the young ones grew up and had young of their own. Soon Zena's original group had swelled to more than a hundred, and even the fertile valley the Mother had provided could not sustain them all. Some would have to find new homes, Zena decided, and she began to train wise ones, so that each could lead a group into new territory. She had observed the young women carefully as they matured, and when they were old enough, she selected as wise ones those who had a special closeness to the Mother and a strong desire to learn Her ways. She taught them everything she knew, all she had learned from Kalar and Ralak, of the power of the earthforce, of men and why they were different, of the need to accept the Mother's wisdom even if it was hard to understand.

  The practical teachings were easiest. A wise one needed to know the various plants for healing, how to treat wounds and illness, the words and procedures for rituals. After that, the lessons were harder, for Zena tried to speak of wisdom itself, of what it meant to be a wise one.

  "To be strong within yourself, kind and just with those you lead, is most important," she told the initiates. "Always, the tribe needs a strong wise one. When there is no one who knows how to speak for the Mother, we forget how to behave, and then there is no peace in the tribe. I have seen this happen.

  "That is why your most important task is to learn to listen to the Mother and accept Her messages. To hear the Mother's voice is more important than all the lessons I have given you, for She can guide you better than I. Come with me now to the circle of stones, and we will begin to practice."

  For many moons after that, Zena brought the initiates with her each morning and evening as she listened for the Mother in the circle of stones. Patience was needed to hear Her voice, and the ability to still the mind. That had been hardest of all for Zena. But the ones she trained did not find it as difficult. They had watched Zena for many years, and had often tried to imitate her stillness, her openness, so they, too, could hear the Mother. Soon, many of them could hear the Mother's voice almost as well as she. Zena blessed them and sent them forth, for they were wise ones now. Some went west, into a great river valley that lay beyond the mountains. Others went north and east along the shoreline, or south into the plains.

  Of all the potential wise ones, her youngest daughter was most intelligent, most clearly of the Mother. This last child had been born many years after Zena's other sons and daughters, when she had thought herself past the time to bear young. At first, she had doubted the familiar feeling in her body. But early one morning the infant had kicked, and she had realized with wonder that another new life truly was growing in her belly.

  The child had lingered long in the womb, growing big and lusty, as her mother had. Zena carried her lovingly. All through the long months, she felt calm and serene, filled with the Mother's grace. The infant seemed to sense her mother's serenity, for when she finally emerged just as the sun slid over the horizon, she did not wail but calmly looked around her.

  Zena smiled in amusement at the baby's serious face, and wondered what she would call this tiny female who seemed so wise already. But deep in her heart she must have known, for when the women asked her to name the newborn child, her lips formed words she had not thought to say.

  "Mina. This one will be called Mina, for she is my mother born again."

  As the child grew, Zena knew she had been right. Cere had spoken so many times of Mina, had told how even as a child she had the promise of wisdom upon her. Zena's small daughter was the same. From the beginning, she seemed to grasp the Mother's ways as if they had been born within her.

  Perhaps, Zena thought, she had absorbed them in the womb, during that long, peaceful time, and she was glad that this precious child would never have to experience the pain and conflict she herself had felt so long ago.

  Only once did Zena see her daughter agonize over the right course of action. Many times, she had watched Mina look first at Lotan's eyes and then at the eyes of her brother Kalet. Always before, she had asked questions when there was something she did not understand. This time she never asked. Each time her lips moved to frame the question, they closed again, as Zena's had.

  She, too, had guessed at the connection between mating and young ones, Zena realized; she, too, knew intuitively that she must not express her suspicions aloud. Zena did not answer the unspoken query; instead, when she thought her daughter was ready, she sent her to the nearby hill where the snake had appeared. And when Mina returned, Zena knew the Mother had spoken. It was written in Mina's face, in the horror and shock that lingered there. Once again, the forbidden knowledge was safe.

  Of them all, this daughter was also the hardest to lose. The bond between them was very strong. They knew each other's thoughts without speech, felt each other's pain or happiness as if it were their own. But when one day Mina came to her and spoke of a vision from the Mother, Zena hid her grief and hugged her daughter warmly.

  “Beyond the great water, there is more land," Mina said, "land that the Mother has shown me. This is where I must go. The Mother awaits me there."

  Her young face was alight with passion, with the joy of knowing the Mother had entrusted her with a vision, as She had long ago entrusted a vision to her mother.

  Zena rejoiced with her, and helped her to gather the supplies she would need for the journey, despite the pain in her heart. When all was ready, she blessed Mina in the Mother's name and smiled encouragement as the small procession headed into the surrounding hills. Only when the new wise one turned away for the last time did she allow the tears to fall. She knew she would never see her again, this child who was the mother she had never known reborn. But she knew, too, that Mina was truly of the Mother and must follow her visions, as Zena had followed her own. Long ago, the Mother had led her to this magnificent valley, and Zena did not doubt that She would one day lead Mina to a paradise of her own.

  She was right. Mina journeyed north and east for many seasons, until she came to the end of the great sea. There she discovered a place so bounteous it came to be called the fertile crescent, for the land was shaped like the crescent of the moon. Her tribe prospered, and when it grew too large, she trained wise ones to lead smaller groups into new lands, as her mother had. She taught them tolerance and peace, respect for the earth and all that lived upon it, for that was the way of the Mother. The new wise ones, in their turn, trained others to teach the Mother's ways, and so the knowledge spread.

  Slowly, generations of these wise ones and their tribes dispersed across the earth. They traveled in all directions, to great continents and even islands where none had trod before. Everywhere they settled, they built circles of stone where they could worship the Mother. Some were so massive no one, still, can explain their creation. Others found caves to shelter them when ice began to creep across the plains, for caves, too, were circles of stone, built by the Mother Herself. Thousands of years later, their descendants gasped in awe when they beheld the magnificent drawings these explorers left on the cave walls, to thank the Mother for Her bounty.

  Other tribes went west and east to found great cities in the valley of the Nile and in the vast reaches of the Orient. As the years passed, they spread farther still. Mountains did not stop them, nor did oceans, no matter how forbidding or tumultuous. They journeyed onward until all the earth was covered with their kind. And all of them, every one, were descendants of Zena's original tribe, the ones she had led across the savannah and the desert to her valley paradise on the shores of the Red Sea.

  PART THREE />
  The Pyrenees

  between France and Spain

  Fifty thousand to thirty

  Thousand years ago

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Zena eyed the young male doubtfully. Conar did not look promising. He was small and thin, with a downcast air, yet at the same time his body was stiff with tension. His eyes met hers, then he lowered them again. But in that moment, she saw something that made her frown in perplexity. His eyes were not like his body; they held an expression she could not fathom. Was it understanding of her situation, or caring, or perhaps hope?

  Heartened, she took his hand. It was cool and clammy. A sigh escaped him at her touch, and some of the tension left his body. Zena smiled at him. Conar's lips twitched up in response, then widened into an infectious grin.

  "Come", she said. "I will show you my place. I would like to share it with you."

  He did not answer, but his hand tightened around hers, and he followed willingly. He had large hands, she noticed, larger than she would have expected for his size. She wondered why she had paid so little attention to him in the past. Probably it was because he kept to himself, always wandering off on some pursuit of his own instead of joining the others.

  She stole another look at him. Unguarded, his face was eager, almost joyous. Zena quickened her pace, excited now at the prospect of mating with him. Conar might be small and quiet, but he was also interesting. Besides, desire had been building inside her for two days, and he was the only young male in the group with whom she had not yet mated.