CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  The Great Mother and the wise woman who spoke for Her, her own mother as well, had made it clear from the time of her first bleeding that she should invite each of the men in her age group to mate with her, without showing favoritism. When none were neglected, jealousy did not spring up to cause trouble between the men. Zena was happy to comply. She loved mating. It was always a pleasurable experience, and always different.

  The tribe had many words for mating, or Akat. There was Akate, or lustful mating, which was often quick, and Akato, which was playful, full of laughter. Akatale was tender, Akatelo, slow and sensuous, and there were many combinations in between. Best of all was Akatalelo. That was spiritual mating, or "with the Mother," when two people soared together. Zena had not yet experienced that kind. She was not likely to, either, with Conar. He was young and had little knowledge. Probably this would be plain Akat, mating that had no special flavor or was for teaching purposes, when a woman showed a less experienced male how to proceed.

  Zena remembered her own training at puberty. How the women had laughed! But there was serious purpose behind the merriment. Proper attention to mating helped to keep peace within the group. Without Akat, some of the men became aggressive, and that was bad for everyone. The women became quarrelsome, and then the young ones grew cranky. That was why the Mother had given them Akat. It was a special gift, one that should not be taken lightly.

  Conar smiled shyly as Zena pulled him down beside her onto the soft moss in the enclosure she had chosen as her mating place. Shady and cool, the small meadow was protected by a circle of tall trees. Sometimes the earth was a bit damp, but usually the sun overhead dried it, so that she could lie with her lover in comfort. The smells and sounds were wonderful.

  Zena sniffed appreciatively, taking in damp earth, and floral scents from the flowering bushes nearby. But then she forgot to notice the smells, or the bird calls that usually held her attention, for she had begun to stroke Conar's back gently, and was immediately aware of a vibrancy in him. Something tingled just beneath his skin, infecting her fingers, so that they flew faster and faster over his back and hips. The tingling was in his fingers as well. He ran his hands slowly down her spine, and now all the clamminess was gone from them. His touch was warm, and infinitely caressing.

  Sighing with pleasure, Zena relaxed completely. Her hands slowed down, to match his. She stroked his buttocks in a lazy, compelling rhythm, felt his answering strokes turn her body into liquid that felt like fire.

  She looked into Conar's eyes. This time he did not lower his lids but stared back at her, so she could see his feelings. It was caring in his eyes, she realized. Perhaps he had wanted very much to be with her?

  The thought aroused tenderness, and she pulled him closer. In response, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her hard. Then he unclasped her and reached down to stroke between her legs, up and down, and almost inside her, but not quite. There was nothing rushed about his movements, though she had felt his hardness against her stomach when he had held her. Some men became impatient when they grew big and hard, and tried to hurry the mating. But Conar's hands and lips moved sensuously, almost lazily, and he seemed intuitively to anticipate her desires, as if he understood her body as well as his own.

  During her training, Zena remembered, her mother had told her that occasionally a man was naturally good at Akat, and needed little instruction. Conar seemed to be one of these. His whole manner had changed, become more confident, as if he sensed he was special in this way. Then she ceased to think at all as he began to suckle her breasts lightly, using his tongue as well as his lips. A tingling sensation ran straight from her nipple to a place deep inside her, and she groaned in ecstasy.

  Excitement engulfed her, a sensual excitement more compelling than anything she had known before. She reached down to caress Conar's hips, his buttocks, and felt the excitement in him, as strong as her own. It leaped between them, gaining strength as it passed through their bodies. Passion was in her belly, her head, her fingertips, in his fingers, his loins, his very being. She could feel it coming toward her in waves.

  She could not bear to wait any longer. She wanted him now, inside her. Pressing her hips against his, she spread her legs wide, an unmistakable signal of readiness. He understood; she could feel him move his hips into position. But then he backed away for still another moment. His tongue passed lightly, then more strongly over the exquisitely sensitive lips of her vagina, and she cried out with pleasure, with the agony of waiting too. She clawed at his back, loving the tongue but wanting more. He groaned, a long, animal sound, and came inside her quickly, without hesitation. Once, twice, three times, he thrust at her, gently at first and then more roughly. She felt the tide rise in her, uncontrollable now. Within seconds, spasms rocked her body.

  Conar slowed his thrusting. He moved in deeply, then pulled away. She cried out with fear that he might leave her entirely - that she could not bear. But he came back and stayed very deep inside her, moving in a slow, circular rhythm. The sensations were delicate, exquisite. The tide rose in her again, overwhelming in its intensity. Over and over, the spasms shook her. When they had slowed down, she wrapped her arms tightly around Conar, loving him for the joy he was giving her.

  He began to move again, harder now, and she clung to him. But he escaped her arms; his back rose in the air, rigid with tension. He flung himself down again, rose once more, and then his body shook with such force that Zena was almost frightened. A scream escaped his clenched mouth as the spasms intensified, then diminished into a gentle shuddering.

  He fell back onto her body with a final shudder. He was still inside her, but the strength had gone from his organ. Still, she felt the wildness begin to build up inside her once again. She let it have its way. This time the spasms were small but very piercing, a final explosion to pull any remaining tension from her. After that, she could not move at all.

  Zena lay back, astonished. She had performed Akat many times since her first bleeding, but never had she experienced such intensity as this.

  She studied Conar curiously. His eyes were closed, and his face was entirely peaceful. He looked vulnerable, and very young. Probably he had not mated much before. His lack of experience certainly did not show.

  Perhaps, as one of the women had hinted, the men had started their own learning sessions, and that was why Conar was so skilled. But Zena found the rumor hard to believe. Akat was the women's province. More likely, as her mother had said, Conar did not need teaching.

  Was he as sensitive and responsive with others? Perhaps she would ask her age-mates, very subtly. To ask a direct question would be rude. The women often discussed Akat among themselves, but they were careful not to compare one man to another. To do so might humiliate a man, and the Mother taught that humiliation was wrong. It was hard enough for men that they could not create new life, as the women could. Women were naturally more like the Mother, closer to Her, for She was Giver of All Life, and women givers of the tribe's life. Men had been given no role in the process. That was another reason why mating was so important for them. Only when they were enclosed within a woman's body could they experience oneness with the Mother. Still, men were strong and often very brave. Zena admired them for their courage.

  She sighed. It must be sad for the men. But she herself was sad, for the Mother still had not given her a child. For two years, she had walked beneath the Mother's tree, circling below its fruitful branches. That alone often started a little one growing in a woman's belly. When nothing had happened, she had knelt before the sacred Goddess figures, with their huge bellies and swollen breasts, within the circle of stones. The images were special to the Mother, and she had been sure that would work. But still no child had come.

  This year, surely, the Mother would grant her wish, Zena decided. She would ask Conar to make a special Goddess figure just for her, and keep it with her always. He made the best figures of all.

  She rolled away from him so she could see him better. Her movement r
oused him, and he propped himself on an elbow and looked shyly into her face. She touched his genitals gently, her eyes teasing, for now the organ was so tiny and crumpled. The joy left Conar's countenance, and he turned miserably away from her. Zena bent over him, compassion in her heart. She had not meant to hurt him. Murmuring soothing words, she stroked him lovingly until he looked at her again.

  "You gave me great pleasure," she told him earnestly. "Much, much pleasure."

  Knowledge that she was speaking the truth showed in his face. He closed his eyes in relief.

  "I have wanted to be with you, to please you," he told her. "I wanted that very much. But I have little experience."

  "You do not need it. You are a wonderful lover," she answered frankly, certain that he would not use the flattery to boast to the other men. He was not that type.

  His face lit up like a child's when one of the big males tossed it gently into the air.

  "Thank you," he said simply. Then, as if still doubtful, he added, "I was afraid I would disappoint you."

  Zena widened her eyes in mock horror. "If you had given me any more pleasure, I might have exploded."

  He laughed impulsively, and Zena laughed with him. She stood and offered him her hand as she turned to leave.

  "We will come back here soon again," she promised. But she knew, as he did, that they would have to wait at least a week, lest the other men sense favoritism. Still, she meant to keep her promise as soon as she could. He was her favorite, for a lover, even if she could not admit it publicly. His body might be small, but his ability to give pleasure was not.

  They wandered back to the resting place, hand in hand, but as they came closer, Zena untangled her fingers from Conar's and went on ahead of him. It was best not to be too public about her affairs. She liked to handle them in private.

  Languorously, she dropped onto a sun-drenched rock to rest. Sleep overcame her. She dreamed of a place she had never seen, far to the west where mountains rose high and white beyond craggy foothills. In her dream, she and Conar were walking in deep tunnels that twisted in labyrinthine patterns beneath the earth. They came to a narrow passage that went through the rocks, and although she had never seen beyond it, she knew it led to a large open space. Conar disappeared, but she went on alone, for she was about to discover something, something important that waited for her in the open space.

  Voices woke her just before she went through the passage. Disappointed, she sat up, ready to protest. Her annoyance, and all remnants of sleep, dropped from her as she listened. It was her mother speaking, and her tone was harsh, compelling.

  "It cannot be that we allow this," she said. "All the tribe will suffer. He must be banished."

  Banished. The word rang in Zena's ears. Who would be banished, and why? Banishment was a terrible punishment. To her knowledge, it had happened only once before, when a man called Kort had tried to force himself on a woman. He had not succeeded, for she had screamed and the others had stopped him, but even the attempt was an unthinkable act. Always, it was up to a woman to initiate Akat and to choose a mate, for only she knew when she was ready and willing. That a man should usurp the women's prerogative was truly beyond understanding. Zena felt herself grow hot with indignation.

  She shook herself. She had no knowledge of what had happened. And she should not listen without revealing her presence. She slid from the rock and went into the clearing.

  "Greetings," she said to her mother, Lune. "I could not help but hear your words. What has happened?"

  Before she answered, Lune looked questioningly at her sister, Menta, who was the tribe's wise woman. Menta and Lune had been born at the same time, but they were very different in temperament. Menta was slow and wise, while Lune was quick and passionate. That was why Menta, rather than Lune, had been chosen as wise woman when their mother had died. Besides, Lune was medicine woman, the one who knew how to heal. Healing was her natural talent, just as Menta's talent was visionary. She could see far beyond what others saw, into time that had not yet come, and time that had passed long before any in the tribe were born.

  "Zena can be told," Menta assured Lune. "All will hear soon. All must express their feelings before we decide."

  "It is Tron," Zena's mother explained, her voice still shaking with anger. "He has taken Pila into the woods without her consent, and now she is crying and in pain. He thinks he can do such things because he is strong and kills many bison."

  "But that is terrible!" Profoundly shocked, Zena sought for better words to express her feelings. "Pila is too small. I do not think she has had even one bleeding."

  "No," Menta answered. "She was not ready." Compassion, and suffering, filled her voice.

  Zena hugged her, understanding her pain as wise woman. It was Menta who felt most responsible for the welfare of the tribe, she who would have to make the final decision about banishment. Kort had been banished for only a few months; then he had been permitted to return. But his crime was not as great, and he had changed his ways. If Tron had really forced himself on Pila, he might be banished forever. That, too, seemed almost unthinkable. How would he live without the others?

  Perhaps, though, the tribe would be better without him. Zena recoiled at the unkind thought. Still, there was truth in it. Tron was different from the other men. They sometimes became angry or fought among themselves, but they were also kind and loving. Tron was not. He did not seem to care for anyone. Even as a child, he had wanted to fight more than anything else, and he seemed almost to take pleasure in hurting others. All of them had tried hard to be kind to him so he would change, but it had not helped. Zena realized abruptly that she had never liked Tron. His face had a sullen, brooding expression, and when she had mated with him he had been rough and uncaring of her pleasure. She had thought at the time that he simply lacked knowledge. But perhaps it was not his nature to be kind.

  Menta seemed to hear her thoughts. "Sometimes," she said quietly, "a man or woman is born who is not kind. There is no kindness in such a person, no matter how hard we try to find it with our own kindness to them. It just is not there. It may be that Tron is one of those. We will see what the others think."

  She turned to Lune. "Summon the people," she instructed. "We must go into council before the sun sets." Everyone in the tribe was a member of the council, and all must be present at the meeting to help make a decision.

  "Go to Pila and comfort her," she told Zena. "Have her tell you what happened, if she can do that."

  Zena and Lune ran to do her bidding. Normally, Menta would not tell any other what to do, but when she assumed her role as wise woman, all of them obeyed her without question.

  Zena found Pila weeping quietly in a corner near the cooking fire. Truly, she was little more than a child. Her mother, Bly, was crooning softly to her and soothing her small, bony shoulders with caressing hands.

  "Menta has sent me," Zena explained. She knelt beside Pila. "The Mother has not forgotten you," she told her. "That is not what happened. You are still part of Her. It is Tron who is not part of Her. He has lost Her by this act."

  Her words seemed to reach Pila, for she looked up with a grave face and reached for Zena's hand.

  Zena was not certain why these were the words that had come to her, but she knew they were truthful, and that Pila needed to hear them. To be so violated must have damaged her good feelings about herself, as well as hurting her body. And without good feelings about herself, she could not feel close to the goodness of the Mother. It must be hard for Pila to understand that what had happened to her did not make her less good in the Mother's eyes, or in the eyes of anyone in the tribe.

  "Can you be strong enough to tell us what happened?" Zena asked the question tenderly, hating to rush the child, but aware that Menta needed to know Pila's story as soon as possible.

  Pila nodded bravely. "I was searching for mushrooms in the woods, and Tron came upon me there. He did not speak. He just pushed me over and went inside me, and it hurt terribly. Then he shook all ove
r and got up and went away."

  She looked up at her mother with dubious eyes. "Does Akat always hurt that badly?"

  Bly hastened to reassure her. "No, Pila, there is no hurt when you are ready. Do not worry. It will not be like this again. When you choose it, Akat gives great pleasure."

  Despite her firm words, there was no certainty in Bly's face. She looked up at Zena sadly. Zena could sense what she was thinking. Would Pila truly learn to enjoy Akat again, after this experience? Would she not always be a little afraid, so that the pleasure was dampened? Akat was the supreme gift of the Mother, the gift She had given them to so their lives would be filled with harmony and that special kind of joy. To take such a gift from Pila was surely a monstrous crime.

  Zena felt herself grow hot again with anger. Determinedly, she forced it away. Anger must not guide her judgment. To help Menta decide what was best, she must think clearly. A good decision, she knew, would not harm anyone, but benefit them all, even Tron, if that was possible. She sighed deeply. At the moment, she could not imagine how that could be done. But if she listened hard, the Mother would surely show her the way.

  *************************

  The tribe gathered just before sunset in the sacred circle of stones. The big, rounded rocks had been placed there long ago by the ancient ones who had come before them. Year after year, they had spoken to the Mother and performed Her rituals within the circle, and now Her presence was very strong. Zena saw the knowledge on each face as the people filed into the glen. They bent their heads toward the ground, then raised them to the sky, to acknowledge the Goddess, the one they called Mother among themselves. Their shoulders straightened as their determination to live by Her ways, to make decisions as She would make them, was strengthened.