CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

"There are other men, men who have forgotten the Mother. They are young and ruthless, hunters from fierce tribes, and they admire those who kill without caring, without remorse. More of them come, many more. They roam the land, violating the women, killing the men, for they know no other way to behave.

  "Together, these cruel men prey on other tribes. They creep up on the people as they sit around their fires at night, and jump upon them without warning. There is no way to stop them, for they have terrible sharp flints, and they draw them across the throats of the men before they can defend themselves, and point them at the women's breasts as they recoil in horror. They tie the women, the young girls, and force them to come, and the children are left behind, screaming for their mothers."

  Sounds of muffled weeping came from the people, but Menta did not hear. All her attention was focused inward, on the vision only she could see. She was straining now, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  “Much time has passed," she said suddenly. "Much time, more than we can think of. Many things have changed. There are more people, and they live in different ways. Their shelters are big now, so big that whole tribes can live in them. There are fields, and strange tools..."

  Her brow cleared, as if the vision had suddenly come into focus, and her voice came louder and louder as she pushed out the words to describe what she was seeing.

  "The men have something in their hands. They are like our flint knives, but they are longer, and sharper, and they gleam in the sunlight. I do not know what they are, but they are terrible things, used only to destroy.

  "More than anything else, the men love these strange knives. They do not love the Mother, or even know Her. They love only the knives. Everywhere they go, they hold their knives before them, to kill and hurt and mutilate. And because they know no other pleasure than that which comes from their knives, their sexual organs become like knives to them. It is as if they have killed Akat with their knives. They violate women with their organs, even small girls, and then they use the threat of their glinting knives to hold the women captive, make them do the hard work for all and beat them if they are too slow. With their knives, they kill the men, and every time they come to a new place, they even kill - "

  Menta's voice broke. She was almost shouting now, and despair was written on her face. For a moment, it seemed that she might not be able to go on. But then, with an immense effort of will, she thrust out the last words in a howl of anguish.

  "They even kill the children," she exploded, pounding the air with her fists for emphasis. "They kill infants and small children. I have seen it, seen them die! It is as if they kill the Mother Herself when they kill the children. I can feel Her pain, hear Her weeping.

  "This cannot come to pass!" Menta screamed. "We cannot let it happen!"

  Menta's final scream lingered long in the air, and when it died away the clearing was utterly still. No one could speak or even move. They could not absorb the words Menta had just spoken. They were too terrible, too unthinkable. Everything she had told them was unthinkable, but to kill infants and children was truly beyond their capacity to imagine. Children were gifts from the Mother, to be loved and cherished and cared for by all.

  Minutes passed in silence. Then, one by one, the people stood and began to mill about, too upset to sit still. But Zena did not stir. She felt numb, as if all the strength had been drained from her body and would never return. Would she ever be the same again? It did not seem possible. Something inside her, some place of peace, had been shattered. She could feel it in there, like a broken jug that could not be repaired.

  Abruptly, the shattered thing came together again, but in a completely different way. It was as if all her innards had only one purpose now. She must prevent these horrors from happening. If it was in her power, she must stop the vision, never let it turn into reality.

  "To kill the children." She muttered the words to herself. Still they made no sense. If a little one was badly hurt and could not survive, they gave it herbs so it would go quickly back to the Mother, without feeling pain. But to kill for no reason? No. That simply was not possible.

  An immense feeling of relief suddenly invaded her, and she almost laughed. Of course, no one would do the things Menta had described. Even Tron would not. The Mother must have given them the vision so they would remember how beautiful were their lives, how filled with joy.

  Menta seemed to read her thoughts. "The terrible happenings I have described are hard to believe," she said quietly. "But the Mother has shown them to me, so they are true.

  "I do not know if the first man, the stranger, is Tron," she continued, " but I believe it could be so. If we banish him, this is what he might do, so he cannot be banished. He cannot be killed either, because then we will do what none has the right to do - kill in anger. There is no peace in killing a man like Tron. Always, his spirit will be there, infecting us, keeping the turmoil in our hearts, so that we cannot be one with the Mother. She has shown me that, too."

  "What, then, can we do?" Bakan's voice betrayed no emotion, and his calmness quieted the group's agitation. Menta glanced at him gratefully.

  "There is a way," she told him. "I cannot be certain it will work, but we must try. But the Mother has shown me only the first part of our task. After that, I do not know, except that the pattern will emerge as it must."

  Zena looked up abruptly, feeling Menta's penetrating eyes upon her. There was compassion on the wise woman's face, and a terrible sadness. Chills ran up Zena's spine and into her scalp.

  "What we must do will be hard," Menta told the waiting tribe. "But it will be especially hard on Zena. She is the one chosen by the Mother to accomplish this task, or to try.

  "It is you, my child," she continued, addressing Zena directly, "who has been designated by the Mother to try to change Tron, for that is the only solution. But you must never feel you have failed if this cannot be done, or if the outcome is not as we desired. The Mother has shown me no further than this."

  Zena bent her head to hide her fear. She did not want to be the one, yet she knew she must be, had felt it already in the strange broken feeling that had so quickly resolved itself into determination.

  She compressed her lips to stop their shaking. "What is it I must do?" she asked bravely, but the tremor in her voice was audible to all.

  Menta answered gently, reassuringly. "You alone cannot change the vision. For this, we will need more guidance. Your role is simpler, and perhaps not so hard. What the Mother asks of you is to try to teach Tron to see what is in people's faces, so he will learn what he should and should not do. He is grown, yet still he does not know these things. Even a child can see better than he when joy or grief suffuses a face. Especially, he does not know how to see the true signals for Akat. He sees desire where it does not exist, and fails to see it when it is there. I have observed this many times."

  Zena nodded in immediate agreement. Menta was right. She had given a name to the thing that was lacking in Tron. For a moment, she was excited to have found the answer to a question that had puzzled her badly. But then apprehension, and a terrible sense of dread, suffused her. Her resolve vanished.

  "How is it possible to teach such a thing?" she protested. "I do not think he will listen to me."

  "The Mother will show you the way," Menta replied calmly. "And all of us will help you, even the children. They, too, are learning. There will always be someone watching Tron as well. You will not be alone."

  Zena sighed. What the Mother asked of her, she would try to do. There was no other way. But it was hard to see how changing Tron would change the horror of the vision Menta had related. Still, as Menta said, they could only do as the Mother requested. Then, surely, She would guide them further.

  Her apprehension dissipated a little, but another thought took its place. "Can we be sure he will act as he should when he has learned to read our faces?"

  "This I cannot answer until we see if Tron changes,” Menta answered. “It is your job only to try to teach him.
Then, if Tron still does not understand the true signals for Akat, Lune's solution may be needed. But we will wait and see."

  Menta pointed abruptly at Tron. "Remove the bindings from his head," she instructed.

  Before she had started to tell of the vision, Menta had asked Krost and Tragar to pad Tron's ears with a thick wad of leaves bound with vines, so he could not hear. It had taken the combined strength of both men to accomplish the task. Zena had wondered at the request, but now she understood. Menta had not wanted Tron to hear, for her words might make him believe he should act in the way she had described.

  Zena studied his face. She saw anger, a stubborn hardness, but was there hatred, the kind of intense hatred Menta had described in her vision? She did not think so. But as the men took the bindings from his ears, he glanced at Menta and a bitterness so strong it was almost hatred showed in his eyes. Menta did not flinch. Her gaze pierced him, seemed to see into the farthest recesses of his thoughts.

  "Stand, Tron," she said. Grudgingly, he rose to his feet. Menta came close to him and spoke sternly.

  "You have violated Pila. You have violated her mother, and all who live in this tribe. You have violated the Goddess, and that will not be forgotten. None of these things will be forgotten. Most of the people here wish to see you banished, not just for a time, but for all the time that remains to you.

  "The Mother has shown us a different way. She wishes you to learn better what is in our faces, so that you will know when Akat is appropriate and when it is not. But because you have violated Her, She forbids you Her supreme gift, the gift of Akat, until the time when you have learned Her ways, and can show us that you understand the women's wishes."

  She stopped for a moment to see if Tron would speak. But his lips remained firmly clasped together, and his eyes were expressionless.

  "If you learn willingly," Menta continued, "the time will be short. If you do not learn willingly, much time could pass. It is up to you. Tell me now if you agree to this."

  Tron looked down at the ground, and now his face was sullen. Zena was certain, though, that he was very surprised, even if he did not let the surprise show. Surely, he had expected to be banished, at least for a time. Perhaps he had even begun to think what he would do, where he would go.

  His comment showed her she was correct. "I will leave," he said stubbornly. "I have no wish to stay here."

  "That way is not open to you. You must learn to read our faces, as the Mother has instructed." The authority in Menta's voice could not be challenged.

  "How, then, should I learn these things?" Realizing he had no choice, Tron gave in, but his voice was contemptuous. He knew well enough already when women wanted Akat, even if they did not know it themselves.

  "Zena will teach you," Menta replied.

  Tron's eyes shot up at Menta's words and fastened on Zena. A flash of pure hatred blazed in his face, then he lowered his eyes again and shrugged.

  A dark lump of the hatred she had seen lodged in Zena's belly. It was as if Tron had thrown it at her, forced it into her just as he had forced himself into Pila. She shivered violently. Tron was capable of hatred. She had seen it. And all of it was directed at her.

  Tron looked up again. Now his eyes were blank. She sensed he had not meant to let her see that brief flash. And later, when he seemed to resent the lessons less strongly, he became cooperative, even friendly. Zena almost began to enjoy him. But some part of her remained wary, as if she knew deep inside herself that he was only biding his time.

  ******************************

  Nevilar had watched the proceedings with an intensity that rivaled Zena's. She, too, had seen the flash of hatred in Tron's eyes, the blankness that followed, and had covered her lips with her hand to hide her smile. No one must know that his reaction gave her secret pleasure. Tron did not care for Zena, as she had feared. All the other young men liked Zena best and talked about her constantly, even when Nevilar took them to her own mating place. But Tron, at least, did not. The hatred in his eyes, the scathing tone he had used earlier made that clear.

  She stared hard at Tron, trying to induce him to return her gaze. She wanted him to know that she, at least, cared for him, that she would support him. But he kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground, and would not look at her.

  If only he had not been denied Akat. That would be the best way to let him know of her caring. Already, she had mated with him many times. He was not a very good lover, for he was brash and forceful and too quick to leave her, but she still found him desirable. His strong, swarthy body appealed to her. So did his manner. His forcefulness was exciting in a way. None of the other men acted like that, pinning her to the ground, paying no attention to her movements. Always, they waited to see what she wanted. Tron seemed not to care. Nevilar felt hotness spread within her as she thought of him.

  Had he really done what Pila had said? Perhaps the child had made up the story, to get attention. And Tron had said she was waiting for him in the woods. Nevilar knew that was not likely, for Pila was too young to think of Akat. She was also a shy child who did not like attention. Nevilar held on to the thought anyway. It seemed to her that none of the others truly understood Tron. Zena especially did not.

  Nevilar's lips compressed. Everyone thought Zena was so special, not just the men. Every day, her mother told her that she ought to be more like Zena, so she would not do so many things wrong. No matter how hard she tried, she could never please her mother, but Zena always did. Zena was proud of herself as well. The Mother taught that pride was wrong, so why was Zena so admired?

  If they would let her take charge of Tron, instead of Zena, Nevilar thought bitterly, she was certain she could change him. She cared for him, and Zena did not.

  She decided to follow him when the council was over, to tell him of her feelings. Sliding into step beside him as he walked away, she tried to match his long strides with her smaller legs.

  "I am sorry for the things that are happening to you, Tron," she told him.

  "Why should you care?" he snapped. His eyes were hard and angry, and his lips were set in a tight line.

  Nevilar hesitated. She had expected him to be grateful for her sympathy. "The Mother teaches compassion," she finally said in a small voice. "All of us care."

  "Compassion! Caring!" Tron snorted the words. "These things have no meaning. It is necessary to kill animals for food, to eat and drink and mate. That is all that has meaning."

  Fearing another outburst, Nevilar did not reply. Instead, she came closer and placed a hand on Tron's arm. His expression changed immediately. She saw desire in his eyes, only it was not quite the same as desire. There was coldness in it as well.

  He turned to face her and began to stroke her breasts, then her hips. His hands were rough against her smooth skin.

  She backed away. "No, Tron. Akat is forbidden. And others may be watching."

  "I do not care," he replied, pulling her toward him again. He placed his lips against hers in a long, bruising kiss.

  Nevilar broke away again, terrified by his behavior. She wanted to help Tron, but they could not ignore the injunction!

  "Menta has spoken," she whispered urgently. "The Mother Herself has forbidden Akat."

  "Menta!" Tron spat out the name as he had spat out the word compassion. "I care not what Menta says." He grabbed her face with both hands and tried to kiss her again.

  "But the Mother - " Nevilar's words were cut off as Tron shoved his lips against hers. The surge of hotness came again, and her knees trembled. She tasted blood. Tron had cut her with his teeth. Her trembling intensified.

  Footsteps sounded in the gravel beside the river. Nevilar wrenched herself away from Tron, her heart thudding with fear. If anyone had seen them... To be found with Tron like this, after what had happened...

  Bakan emerged from the bushes that lined the banks of the river. He stared at them, a puzzled frown on his weather-beaten face. As always, his look was direct, full of authority. After a moment, he ra
ised a hand in greeting and went on.

  Nevilar's body went limp with relief. He had not seen. Before Tron could make a move toward her again, she whirled and ran for the clearing, but her knees were shaking too hard to maintain the pace. Besides, she did not want anyone to notice her distress. Then she would have to explain. She slowed down and walked as normally as possible.

  Tron came up behind her. His breath was hot on the back of her neck. She flinched away from him, but he did not touch her.

  "Tomorrow," he whispered. "As the sun goes down, in the place we have been before."

  Nevilar did not respond, but only continued to walk. All the way to the clearing, she felt his eyes burning into her back.

  She fought with herself all the next afternoon. She should not go, but if she did not, she would not be able to help Tron, show the others that she, not Zena, was the one who could change him. And once he had calmed down, Tron would surely realize that Akat was impossible, since the Mother had forbidden it.

  In the end, she could not go, for her mother asked her to help with some skins she was stretching, and Nevilar could not refuse. Tron looked at her disdainfully the next morning and would not answer when she greeted him.

  "I could not come. But tonight I will come," she gasped out, afraid of the words, but even more afraid of his disdain.

  He walked away without responding, his face obstinate with anger. Nevilar followed miserably. She should have gone. Now Tron was angry at her, might never like her again. Then she saw Zena, waiting to start the lessons. Tron hated them; she was sure he did, and even more, he hated having Zena tell him what to do. Nevilar felt better. Probably it was Zena, not herself, who had made him angry.

  Zena saw Tron's glowering face as he came toward her and winced. Yesterday had been difficult; today might be worse. She wondered what had happened to put him in such a towering rage.

  The children were playing nearby and she called to them to join her. As Menta had said, they too were learning, and Tron might be more comfortable with others in the lessons.