CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  Yawning hugely, he closed his eyes. Already, the night was almost gone.

  For a few hours the cave was quiet save for an occasional grunt, or the crackling of flames as someone stirred the fire. Then a ray of sunlight penetrated its east-facing entrance and shone directly into Zena's eyes. She sat abruptly, astonished to find herself in this place. She remembered how she had come here, but she had not realized a whole night had passed.

  The child! She was no longer holding her hands, giving her strength. She had fallen asleep instead. Zena bent over the girl, terrified that she would be worse. But breath still moved in and out of her lips, and her color was good. Seeming to sense Zena's worried gaze, she opened her eyes. A smile creased her lips, then she closed her eyes and slept again.

  Shivers of awe ran up Zena's spine. The brilliant eyes were free of pain, free of fever too. And when she examined the wound, she saw that the red streaks on the child's thigh and back were nearly gone.

  She stared down at her hands, almost frightened at what they had done. They had healed the child. The Mother had given her the power to heal.

  "Thank you, Great Mother," she breathed into the silent room. For a long time, she sat quietly, trying to absorb the magnitude of this precious gift.

  The child stirred in her sleep, bringing her thoughts to the present. Zena bent over her, then she rose quietly. The girl was much better, but now she must eat, not heavy food like meat, but gruel, perhaps some fruit. She would get the food from her own cave before the others woke.

  The slanted light dazzled her eyes as she stepped outside. She turned away from the glare and stood for a moment, feeling the sun heat her shoulders, pour energy into her body. The night's work had drained her. Lazily, she squinted along the length of the brilliant shaft of light. It shone directly into a crevice on the cliff across from her, seemed to widen it strangely.

  Zena stared. The dream. This was her dream. The sun had reached into a slit and widened it. She had forgotten. That was what she had seen, just before she had walked with Conar through the labyrinthine passages beneath the earth, had come to the narrow cleft that led to the open space where something waited.

  The entrance to the passages was here, in front of her. Zena turned to call for Conar, but he was already beside her. She grabbed his hand and pointed. Together, they scrambled up the short cliff and slid through the narrow opening.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  A trickle of water penetrated a crack in a rocky hillside, dissolving an infinitesimal quantity of lime. Years passed, and the trickle became a stream, then a river. More lime dissolved, and the crack continued to expand. Once too small to be seen, it became finally a gaping hole, big enough to swallow all the water.

  The river poured into the waiting hole and disappeared. Now it attacked limestone beneath the surface to create deep caves and long, winding tunnels. As the land dried out, the river sank still lower, excavating new passages under the ones it had carved long ago. The tunnels above crashed into the ones below and suddenly there were immense chambers whose height was twice what it had been before. If the cave was close to the surface, light sometimes penetrated through chinks in the ceiling. Then, startlingly, a thin stream of sunlight, perhaps moonlight, shone brilliantly into an underground world that had known only darkness for thousands of years.

  In deeper caves, moisture came through the chinks, and stalactites formed. Each time a drop of water fell, a particle of calcite was left behind. Drop by drop, the calcite accumulated, until a shimmering curtain of needles hung suspended from the ceiling. Drips from each needle fell to the floor below, leaving another bit of calcite. Each particle slid over the one before it, making it a little larger, like dribbles of sand that finally make a castle. The bulky structures rose slowly toward the graceful needles that had given them birth, and sometimes, if many centuries had passed, they met. Pillars formed then, long, shining pillars whose fragile tops rested gratefully on the sturdy layers below. In the perpetual darkness, none could see their beauty, but if light did fall upon them, they shone in a brilliant display of white lashed with all the colors of the rainbow.

  It was at formations like these that Zena stared in wonder. Thousands upon thousands of slender needles hung from the ceiling above her head, glowing with color in the light of her torch. All around her were structures for which she could find no names, few comparisons. Never before had she seen anything like them. Some rose from the floor of the cave in thick, tuber-like shapes; others were like sticks, except they curved as no stick could curve without breaking. A few looked almost like trees that had been squashed, or planted upside down. Even the sides of the cave were covered with the formations. They spilled over each other, looking as if they would keep on spilling until they poured across her feet, but when she touched them, they were hard and cold, covered with a glistening layer of moisture.

  She turned to look for Conar. He was staring in awe at the shining needles, at the bulbous shapes that rose to meet them. His flickering torch threw strange, dancing shadows across the formations, and they seemed suddenly to move. As she watched, his flare sputtered and went out. She looked critically at her own. It would not last much longer either. They must have been here longer than she had thought.

  She hurried over to Conar, and they turned toward the narrow passage through which they had entered. Reluctant to leave, she took a last look at the magnificent cavern. It was too closed in to be the open space of which she had dreamed, but it was still the most extraordinary cave she had ever seen.

  Deftly, she wriggled into the tunnel. Conar slid in behind her. She had taken only two steps when her torch went out. Immediately, the blackness was absolute. She could see nothing, not even her hand as it moved automatically in front of her face, to ward off the unknown threats darkness seemed always to bring. She could not see Conar, or the walls of the passages, or the floor beneath her feet.

  "Zena!" Conar's voice reverberated strangely in the tight space. He reached toward her, feeling for her hand, so they would be connected. She grabbed it, glad she was not alone. Silently, they groped their way along. They could not see, but they could hear and feel and smell. Without their eyes, all their other senses were magnified. For the first time, Zena heard the soft, steady dripping of water, smelled the dankness of constant humidity, the faintly abrasive scent of wet rock. Her fingers registered the strange combination of stone so covered with moisture that it would have been slimy, but for the tiny granules that came away with her hands. She thought she could feel the darkness, too, as if the vast blackness of the night sky had come deep into the ground to embrace her. It filled her eyes, her ears and mouth, muffled her voice when she spoke, clung to her arms and legs as she moved.

  Hours seemed to pass as they felt their way along the walls, crawled and scrambled through the maze of tunnels, trying vainly to remember how many turns they had taken when they had come. In the total darkness, nothing could be distinguished, not even memories of where they had walked before. Zena felt as if the blackness were closing in on her, pressing against her body and confusing her mind with its relentless pressure. Finally, she could not fight it any longer. She sank down heavily against the walls of the tunnel they were negotiating.

  "We are lost," she said bluntly. "And we cannot wait for light to come, for light never comes to this place."

  Conar nodded, then realized she could not see him. "Yes. We are lost," he agreed. "But surely, if we keep going, we will find the way out. These tunnels cannot go forever."

  "We must think as we go," Zena responded, trying to give herself courage by making a plan. "We must think what each place feels like, if it seems deeper beneath the earth, or if it is dryer, and perhaps nearer the surface. When we first came into the tunnels, it was not so wet. Then we went down, I think. Now we must try always to go up."

  The proposal restored her dwindling confidence, gave her the will to get up again. Just as she rose, something slithered across her feet. She screamed. The sound came back to he
r ears, went away again, and then returned, over and over, becoming fainter with each repetition.

  "There must be snakes here," she said apologetically. "They frighten me when I cannot see, but at least it did not bite."

  "I saw the thing that crawls in the big room," Conar reassured her. "It was like a snake, but it was small and harmless, I think."

  Zena groped her way forward, trying hard to control her shaking legs. They shook not just because of the creature that had crawled across them, but from exhaustion and hunger. She had hardly slept or eaten last night, and once she had discovered the entrance to the caves, she had been too excited to think of food. They had stopped only long enough for her to take gruel to the child, for Conar to prepare their torches. Now she was paying for her foolishness.

  "We are going down, I think," Conar said. "It gets wetter. I hear water below too."

  Zena headed in the opposite direction. To restore her spirits, she began to make sounds, so she could listen to them bounce back like her scream. At first, the sounds were slow to return. They seemed to spread out hollowly before meeting another wall that sent them back. Then, as they rounded a long passage that curved to the left, the sounds returned faster, in a series of quick repetitions, as if the walls were close.

  "The sounds!" she said excitedly. "We can tell from the sounds if we are in a big space or a small one."

  "Perhaps it is true, but I do not know what good that will do," Conar objected.

  "No. You are right." The excitement left Zena and with it went the last of her strength. She sank to the ground, too dispirited to go on. Conar dropped down beside her. His skin felt clammy against her shoulder, as if there were no heat left in him. She shivered convulsively. Maybe they would never get out of the tunnels. They could go in circles, and they would never know it. Or perhaps the passages just kept going, winding endlessly beneath the earth. Maybe she would never again see the sky, the leaves on the trees, or even Conar's face.

  The depressing thoughts wandered around and around in Zena's mind, as twisted and confusing as the passages themselves.

  "No!" Zena propped herself up. Beside her, she felt Conar jump at the suddenness of her word.

  "We must not give up," she told him, and the sternness in her tone was for herself as much as him. "That is not right. The Mother Herself showed me these tunnels, and She does not expect me to lose myself in them. I must find my way out, so I can look again for the open space where She waits."

  She pushed herself up and went on, making noises as she went. Perhaps Conar was right, and they would not help, but she could not think of anything else.

  "Hoo," she called out, imitating the noise owls made when they hunted at night. The blackness made her think of owls, with their huge, wide eyes that could see in the dark.

  The sound reverberated around them. The walls must be very close. Zena reached out and realized she could barely extend her arms. As she went on the width of the passage became smaller and smaller until she could barely squeeze through. Panic assaulted her, that she would be crushed, would not be able to turn around, go back again. And then she suddenly realized something.

  "It is dry," she exclaimed. "The walls are dry, like the walls when we first came in."

  She forced herself to go on despite the claustrophobic sense that she might never extricate herself from the ever-tightening space. Behind her, she heard Conar's rapid breathing. He, too, must be very frightened.

  "Hoo," she called again, to distract them from their fear.

  "Hoo," came an answer. Zena stopped abruptly. That was not her voice coming back. It was not Conar's voice either.

  "Hoo," she called again.

  "Hoo," came the answering call.

  Zena made the sound many times in a row. The sounds came back in the same way.

  Conar clutched her arm. "Someone is in here," he gasped. "We must find the person."

  "Who is there?" he called out. This time the response was different. Instead of the owl sound, they heard laughter.

  "The children!" Zena exclaimed. "It must be the children."

  She moved forward as rapidly as she could, calling as she went. There was no answer, but she thought she heard the clatter of rocks as someone scrambled down the cliff. And then, as she turned the corner, there was light, blessed, brilliant light. It dazzled her eyes, made her shout with joy. She ran into it, weeping with the wonder of seeing again. Rubbing the tears away, she stared at the world around her as if she had never before seen plants and trees, or clouds in the sky. They were beautiful, magnificent. Never would she forget how wonderful they were.

  Conar's face as rapturous as her own. "The big cave was beautiful," he said fervently, "but this is even better."

  The two little boys were at the bottom of the cliff, staring at them with awe-struck eyes. They must have been playing up here, Zena realized with immense gratitude. But for their laughter, their imitations of her sound, she and Conar might never have found their way out. Next time, they must have flares that would last longer.

  The two boys turned suddenly and ran back to their shelter, calling excitedly. Zena and Conar followed, curious to know what they were saying.

  The shallow cave was imbued with warm, brilliant light. That must be why the Big People had settled here instead of in the larger cave she and Conar inhabited. Here, the morning sun would give heat that would last almost all day.

  The big man looked up in wonderment as Zena and Conar entered. Was it possible that they had power over the rocks as well as the bison? The boys had told him the two strangers had been inside the cliff, making noises like owls, had emerged as if the rocks had opened for them. He would go look at this place for himself, to see if such a thing could be.

  He came over to Zena and touched her forehead gently in a gesture of thanks. The others followed, their eyes filled with reverence. The man was powerful, but the woman had even more power, for she had healed the child as well as riding the bison and walking through the rocks.

  Zena and Conar regarded each other uneasily. To be viewed with such awe was disconcerting. Perhaps if they could talk with each other, some of the strangeness would disappear.

  Zena spoke in a friendly tone. "I am Zena. This is Conar," she said, pointing to herself and then to Conar.

  "Gunor," the big man responded, pointing to himself. He pointed to the child. "Pulot." His voice had the strangely nasal sound Zena had noticed before, and the way he made sounds was unusual. Still, she would get used to it.

  She went over to the child. "You feel better now, Pulot." The child giggled at the sound of her voice and watched curiously as Zena examined her. The red streaks were almost gone, the fever too. There would be no need now to watch over her all day. Zena was relieved. After the long night, the frightening experience in the tunnels, she wanted only to sleep.

  The next day Gunor appeared with strips of meat and laid them by the fire. "I feed you," he said, gesturing to the meat, then to their mouths. "I good hunt." He ran a few steps, wooden spear in hand, and thrust it toward the bison, to show how he hunted.

  "Thank you, Gunor," Zena replied, thrilled by his offer. Conar repeated her words with even greater sincerity. He hated the thought of killing the animals he adored, but he, too, had realized they could not live through the winter without meat.

  Gunor nodded, gratified by their obvious appreciation. Zena followed him to his cave to check on Pulot. She was recovering nicely, though it would still be many days before she walked. And even then, she would limp. One of the boys limped too she had noticed. Many of them had scars as well, or bones that had not healed properly.

  A few days later, she discovered the reason. She and Conar had climbed a hill in search of a type of nut that came very late in the season. They could not be eaten until they had been pounded and mixed with water, but they had a delicious taste then. Below them spread the valley she had traveled with the bison. A herd of reindeer was grazing there now.

  "Look!" Conar called to her. Zena turned
and saw the whole group of Big People, all but Pulot and the old woman, creeping up on a herd of reindeer. They were stalking them from all directions, trying to separate one or two animals from the others. One of the reindeer, a big, heavily antlered creature, spotted a child and turned on him, tossing its antlers and stamping. The boy leaped nimbly away. The second boy came closer, waving his arms and a short wooden spear. The two women followed and charged at the animal, to drive it in the direction of the waiting men. The reindeer bolted, almost trampling one of the men. He shoved his spear toward its belly, but it kicked furiously and ran off. The group began to stalk again.

  Zena's breath left her lungs with an audible sound. "So that is how Pulot was wounded," she said, her voice heavy with awe at the child's courage. "Except they charged the bison then."

  "It is not surprising so many are wounded," she added. "They have courage, great courage, to go so close."

  "They do not throw the spear," Conar objected. "Why do they not throw the spear instead?"

  "Perhaps they do not know how. Or perhaps the spears are not sharp enough, and they must be close."

  "We must look more carefully at them." Conar frowned, sorry now that he had so little knowledge of hunting. If he knew more, he could help the Big People find a less dangerous method. He had not hunted himself, but he was sure the hunters from his own tribe threw their spears before they came close for the kill.

  Zena's words reflected his thoughts. "I wish now the others were here, so they could show the Big People how they hunt. They make the spears differently, and they do not need to go so close to persuade an animal to be killed."

  She sighed heavily. There was another reason why she wished the others were here. Each full moon since she had banished herself had passed without any bleeding. Now a third month had come and gone, and she was sure. Finally, the Mother had given her a child, but instead of the joy she had expected to feel, there was only a pervasive feeling of wrongness, a terrible sadness that she could not speak of this to Lune, to Menta, to the others. It did not seem right to have a infant without a tribe to greet it.