CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  Yells from below interrupted her musings. The hunters had succeeded in separating a young reindeer from the group. Killing it quickly, they dragged it into the bushes and began to cut it apart. But now another threat appeared. A lion that had crouched unobserved in the underbrush charged toward the group. The men continued to slash hunks of flesh from the reindeer, while the others yelled loudly and waved their spears. The lion backed off, snarling. Another lion crept up beside it. For a moment, the two massive predators watched, and then they charged. This time, Zena saw, they would not be stopped.

  The men kept cutting until the last moment, then threw the meat as far as they could into the bushes and ran after it. The women snatched up the children and followed. Miraculously, the whole group escaped. A few moments later, they started up the hillside, lugging the meat. The two boys scampered ahead, laughing, seemingly unconcerned by the dangers they had faced.

  No wonder they are so strong and sturdy, Zena thought. They must have to hunt like this almost every day to get enough to eat.

  They seemed to depend almost entirely on meat, she had noticed. She had never seen them eating grains and tubers, only a few berries. She might not be able to help with the hunt, but she could help by showing them some of the other foods that were available. Even when snow covered the ground, there were always a few berries, even edible twigs.

  As soon as they returned, she and Conar put together a basket of various foods they had collected and took it to the Big People. They accepted it with gratitude, but they looked surprised at the contents.

  Gunor tried to explain. He used his hands as much as words, and Zena was able to grasp his meaning. Waving his arms to the north, he shivered violently, then pointed to the grains and shook his head. They had come from the north, his gestures said, where it was very cold and there were no grains. He blew then, imitating the wind, and showed the depths of the snow.

  They must have traveled south to this place, to escape the snows, Zena realized. Perhaps that was why the cold did not seem to bother them. She and Conar needed furs stuffed with grasses for their feet, and they had stitched together other furs, given to them by Gunor, so that they covered most of their bodies. The Big People wore only a small fur slung around their waists, perhaps their shoulders.

  She shivered. The air might not seem cold to them, but it did to her. Already, the frozen ground was covered with a thin blanket of snow, and soon there would be more.

  Zena's thought was more accurate than she knew. That night, a massive snowstorm began. The white flakes fell all through the dark hours, all through the day that followed. At first, they dropped slowly, as if part of a beautiful dance. Then the wind came bustling in from the north and blew the icy drops straight into their faces with savage intensity. She tried to go out, to look at Pulot, but the wind drove her back. Later, during a brief lull in the storm, she tried again. She had reached the hill above the cave when a figure suddenly loomed below her, almost invisible through the driving snow. Thinking it must be Gunor, she struggled toward him.

  "Zena!" The sound was muffled by the snow, carried aloft by the howling wind, and reached her only faintly. But it was a man's voice, she was sure of that. She went closer, surprised that Gunor was using her name. He had not said it before.

  The figure waved his arms, and she stared in confusion. He was not wide enough for Gunor, or any of the big people. But he must be one of them, for Conar was inside.

  "Zena!" the call was louder now, and there was desperation in the voice. The figure fell and did not rise again.

  **************************

  Zena ran. Someone who knew her name was out there. But who could it be? She dismissed the question and concentrated on shoving one foot, then the next, through the deep snow. The figure was moving now, trying to get to his feet. He was big, not wide like Gunor, but tall like Krost and Tragar. Tron too had been big like that.

  Tragar! It was Tragar! But what was he doing here? Zena bent over him, tried to help him rise.

  "The others," he gasped. "The others are out there. They will die..."

  Zena stood perfectly still, unable to believe. The others -they had come! She was dizzy for a moment with the relief of it. Then she charged into action.

  "Stay there," she yelled at Tragar. "I will get help."

  Tragar nodded and slumped back into the snow. Zena ran, shoving her feet in and out of the depths until she thought her legs would give out beneath her. She ran on anyway.

  Gunor's cave was in front of her now. She burst into it, calling. "Help!" she said urgently. "I need help!"

  The big man came close to her, intent on understanding. She pointed outside and grabbed his arm. He nodded, and reached for some odd-looking contrivances made of curved sticks and vines and furs. He attached the objects to his feet and shuffled after her, calling out instructions to the others as he went.

  Conar appeared on the hill, worried at Zena's long absence.

  "Tragar," she screamed at him through the wind. "The others!"

  Tears pounded behind her eyes at the thought of them buried in the snow, freezing. She wiped them savagely away. She needed to see, not weep.

  Tragar was standing when they reached him. He pointed down into a hollow, near the place where the big people had hunted. Zena stared through the blinding snow, trying to make out the forms. Were they really there?

  Gunor made a sound of recognition and leaped down the slope. He did not sink in, Zena saw with astonishment, but stayed on top of the snow. His tribe-mates appeared with similar contraptions on their feet and lunged down behind him.

  Zena followed as quickly as she could. Tragar lurched unsteadily after her. Conar did not bother to run but curled himself in a ball and rolled, as he had when he was a child. The technique worked, for he arrived before them.

  "Conar!" Zena heard the voice, unsteady with joy. It was Lilan; she could tell even from here.

  Another voice came, gruff and low. Katli! It was Katli speaking. "Take the children first, " she told Conar. "Then Menta. She is the coldest of all, for she went in the river after a child."

  And then she heard Lune. "Where is Zena? Have you found Zena? Is she with you?"

  Zena plunged down the slope and wrapped her arms around her mother. Now she could not stop the tears. They poured down her cheeks, warm and comforting beneath the icy snow.

  "Zena," Lune whispered. "Zena."

  "Hurry," she said, releasing her hold. "We must get the others warm. They are cold, too cold. Only a few can still walk."

  Zena grabbed one of the little ones. "Those who can walk, come after me," she shouted. "We will carry the others."

  Already, she noticed, Gunor and the other male had a child under each arm and were struggling up the slope toward her cave. By the time she was halfway up, they had returned for more. Finally, they were all inside. As soon as they had brought in the last of the children, the Big People disappeared. She had not even thanked them, Zena realized.

  She looked around her. The cave was suddenly, wonderfully, full of people, her people. With so many of them inside, it no longer looked so big! But why were they here?

  Zena thrust the question from her mind. All of them were cold and wet and exhausted, and she must help them first. She began to crush herbs for a tonic as fast as her hands could move. Already, Conar had built up the fire with deft hands, so she could warm the potent brew. She gave some to each child, then turned to examine Menta. The wise woman's eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. Zena looked questioningly at Lune.

  "It was the river," Lune told her, her eyes tragic with remembrance. "It flooded its banks one night, when we were sleeping. The water rose very fast. It took one of Katli's sisters and her child before we even knew what was happening. Only Menta saw, and she went after them. But it was too late. We pulled Menta out, but already she was almost dead. Then the cold came, and we could not get her warm again."

  Her voice faded and Krost took up the tale. "We could not cross the river, to c
ome here as we wanted. It was too high. Instead, we had to follow it far to the north before we found a place to cross so we could come back again. When we reached these cliffs, we smelled your fire. But then the snow came, and for a long time, we could not find you. Only Tragar had the strength to keep searching."

  "We have been traveling now for many moons," Bakan added. "More than two, I think. We did not mean to be so long." His words were sad but his furrowed face was wreathed in smiles that they were here, safely in a cave with Zena.

  "But how did you know to come here, to the mountains?" Zena had not thought of this before, and there was such astonishment in her voice that the some of the children began to laugh. The sound was wonderful to her ears.

  Conar grinned and hugged his sister. "Lilan was the one who knew where to look," he reported proudly. "She heard you speak of your dream."

  Lilan had not taken her eyes from Conar's face since she had entered the cave, but now she turned to Zena and spoke with great seriousness.

  "I am sorry, Zena, to have listened. I meant no wrong."

  "You have brought the others to us, Lilan," Zena replied fervently. "For that, I am grateful. All of us are grateful to you - the Mother too."

  Menta gasped suddenly, and Zena's heart thudded with fear that she might be worse. Then she saw that the wise woman's eyes were open and she was staring up in wonder.

  The bison. She was lying on her back, and the first thing she had seen were the bison on the ceiling.

  The others followed her eyes, and they, too, gasped in astonishment. In the flickering firelight, the bison seemed to move across the cave walls in slow, measured leaps.

  "Conar has made them," Zena explained, "to thank the bison. They saved my life, for I had lost my tools and furs in the river, and the bison kept me warm. After that, the big male saved me. He carried me to Conar, here in this cave."

  A babble of excited questions broke out. Zena let Conar answer and concentrated on Menta. She rubbed her hands and feet as Conar had rubbed hers, and was gratified to see a spasm of pain cross Menta's face as sensation began to return. Her breathing seemed a little better too.

  "The bison were in my dream," Menta said faintly, "but I did not know why. Surely," she added, and now her voice had more strength, "the Mother's ways can be strange - but always they are good. She has saved Zena, brought us to her."

  "Tron has not come here?" Katli's gruff voice broke the momentary silence.

  "Tron?" Zena frowned, not understanding. "Tron is dead."

  "No, Zena. Tron is not dead." Lune came closer to look into Zena's eyes. "That is one reason we came. You did not kill Tron. He lives, though he is wounded. Nevilar saw him and then he disappeared. We feared he would try to find you. And it is important that you know you have not killed."

  Relief flooded Zena. She felt it swell inside her, fill a place that had ached with remorse ever since Tron had dropped to the ground. She had not killed - after all, she had not killed.

  The relief evaporated as quickly as it had come. In its place came a terrible feeling of responsibility. If Tron was still alive, he could still do harm. She had failed to teach him as the Mother had asked, and he had not changed. She was certain of it. There was a violence in Tron that could not be stopped. And that meant Menta's vision could still come true.

  The pictures came back to her, as fresh and cruel as when Menta had related them, and she shuddered. Somehow, she must find another way to stop the violence.

  The others were quiet, seeing the conflict on her face. There was little they could do to help. Then Lilan came up to Zena and patted her hand.

  "I am glad, Zena, that Tron is not dead, because we could come to be with you and Conar again."

  "All of us are glad to be with you again," Nevilar said shyly. Nevilar's mother put a comforting hand on her arm as she spoke, Zena noticed. Perhaps her daughter's troubles had made her kinder.

  "I am very glad, more glad than anyone could know, to see all of you," Zena replied softly, smiling at Nevilar. "And Lilan is right. It is good at least that all of us are together again. That is most important."

  As always, she realized, she would have to digest the news about Tron slowly. In time, with the Mother's help, she would understand what she must do.

  As soon as the storm was over, Bakan and Katli and the other hunters went to find Gunor, to show him their spears. They were eager to help the man who had saved Zena's life. She had told them how the Big People hunted, how Pulot had been wounded, and they wanted to prevent further injuries to the people in his tribe.

  Gunor watched intently as they showed him how to throw the spear from the special launchers they made. He practiced for many days and could soon throw the spear farther than any of the others, for he was very broad and strong. In return, he showed them how to make the devices that kept him from sinking in the snow. Soon, everyone was using them. The two tribes began to hunt together, and as the weeks passed, their combined efforts became ever more successful. There were new furs for all from the many reindeer they took, and a good supply of meat was placed in a deep hole in the snow, where it would freeze. They celebrated together as well, to thank the Mother for Her generosity.

  Best of all, Zena thought, the children no longer had to participate in the hunt. At first, the two boys had seemed to miss the excitement. Then they began to play with the other children, making balls of snow and throwing them at each other, sliding down the hills on old pieces of hide, and the restless look on their faces had disappeared.

  Zena smiled contentedly. Now, her only worry was Menta. Her feet had been badly frozen, and Zena wondered if she would ever recover fully or walk properly again. But if the terrible cold had damaged Menta's body, it had not damaged her spirit. She was indomitable still, eager to know all that had happened to Zena and Conar. Especially, she wanted to hear about the tunnels and caves beneath the earth. Zena tried to describe the magnificent cavern with needles, the darkness of the tunnels and the need for better light. She spoke, too, of her frustration that she still had not found the open place where the Mother waited.

  "I, too, feel that the Mother waits for us in the caves," Menta told her. "When the time is right, She will show us the way. Until then, you must be patient."

  Gunor appeared at the entrance to the cave, looking for Bakan and the other hunters. Zena jumped up to greet him.

  "Bring Gunor to me," Menta asked Zena. "I would like to thank him again for all he and his tribe have done for you, for all of us, now that he can understand my words."

  The two tribes had spent many hours in the past months learning each other's words so they could speak together. Now, they understood each other well, although Gunor and the others in his tribe still had trouble pronouncing some of their words.

  Menta watched Gunor carefully as he came close. As Zena had said, there was great kindness in his face, but there was something else as well, a sadness, almost as if he was watching someone or something die.

  "Your tribe has made it possible for us to hunt with less danger," Gunor replied when Menta had expressed her gratitude. "And Zena has saved the child. There is magic in her. Perhaps she can save my mate too."

  "What is wrong with her?" Lune had overheard and was, as always, eager to understand anything that went wrong in a person.

  Gunor tried to explain. "The infants cannot be born," he said sorrowfully. "They do not emerge, and the women die. Almost all have died."

  Lune frowned. "How many moons until the infant comes?"

  "It comes soon," Gunor answered. "Many moons have passed already, more than one full cycle of the seasons, I think."

  Lune and Zena exchanged glances. That was a very long time for an infant to remain in the womb.

  "I will try to help," Zena promised him. "Lune too. She knows far more of healing, especially of birth, than I do."

  Gunor looked relieved and went off to join the others. But in the end, they could not help very much, except to relieve the young woman's pain when she strugg
led to give birth a few days later. By the time the infant finally emerged, her body had been battered beyond endurance. Blood flowed freely from a place deep inside her, and nothing would stop it. Before the baby had taken its first breath, she was dead.

  At least the child will live, Zena thought. He seemed strong and healthy, and he was very big. Perhaps Bly could feed him. She had a baby almost ready to wean.

  The arduous birth had not damaged his skull, as sometimes happened, she saw, examining the baby's head carefully. It was big and very hard, and the soft places that made birth easier were almost closed. If all the infants of the Big People had heads like that, it was not surprising they could not be born.

  "There is a story of a time long ago," Lune told her, "far beyond the time of our memory, when many women died in childbirth. The infants lingered too long in the womb, and their skulls were big and thick, like this one. I did not believe the story, but perhaps it was true, and Gunor's people are still like this."

  "That might be the reason why so many of their women have died," Zena agreed sadly. "Gunor said more than one full cycle of the seasons had passed. It must be very hard for him."

  "We could not help," she told him miserably when he came to see what had happened, "except to ease her pain. I am sorry. But the baby lives at least."

  He nodded and turned away hopelessly. No one could help with this, not even one like Zena, with magic in her hands. Something was wrong with the people of his tribe, that their babies could not be born, and no one could fix it. Soon, there would be no more of them, for how could a tribe live when all the women were dead? Without women, there could be no new life.

  Strangely, it was Nevilar who comforted him. She had changed, Zena realized. Her time in the Ekali with the other women seemed to have softened her, but it had also given her a new kind of strength, as if for the first time she felt secure enough to give to others without taking from herself. Perhaps, too, she felt better about herself because her mother had become less critical.