CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  She and Conar had found the lofty cavern soon after the arrival of the rest of the tribe, as if the Mother had been delaying the discovery until that moment. The power of the magnificent chamber had leaped out at them as soon as they had entered, as strong and compelling as lightning from the sky. And when they had seen that the cave was shaped like a perfect circle of stones, they had known Menta was right. It was not only Zena for whom the Mother waited in the foothills. Here, in this sacred place, She waited for them all.

  They had run to get the others. Zena smiled, remembering. Krost and Tragar had carried Menta as far as the narrow passage, for it was still hard for her to walk. Then Zena had led her, crawling, through the tunnel, had watched tears form in the wise woman's eyes when she had raised them to survey the wondrous chamber. For Menta, such a show of emotion was rare.

  "This is the Mother's home, the place where She was born," she had said, her voice shaking with awe. "She honors us to bring us here."

  She pointed to a smaller circle of rocks on one side of the cavernous space that Zena had not yet noticed.

  "The Mother Herself has placed them there," Menta told her, and Zena saw that she was right. The big rocks were too large for any man or woman to move, and it did seem as if they had been placed there on purpose. The flat expanse of sandy soil they enclosed was just big enough to hold all the members of the tribe. Light from a narrow opening high in the rocks on the other side of the cave shone on the circular space, as if assuring them they were welcome there. The light sparkled on a small stream that ran through the middle of the cavern, shimmered across the opaque surface of a deep black pool that lay still as glass on the opposite side.

  The others had entered after Menta, instinctively bowing their heads, then raising them to the arched ceiling, as they always did when they entered a circle of stones. This circle was especially sacred, for the Mother Herself had created it. In this place She was Goddess, full of power and energy, as well as Mother, with Her infinite compassion, and they came reverently into Her presence.

  Zena sat quietly and felt the Mother's spirit fill her body and mind, erasing the terrifying images that had distressed her earlier. There was truth in them, she knew, but here in the Mother's home she was aware of nothing but the wondrous mystery of Her presence. Always, the spirit of the Goddess had been stronger in this place than any other, and now it was stronger still. Here, in the blessed circle of stones the Mother had created for them, Menta held the councils, performed the ceremonies for birth and death, for the killing of an animal or the coming of rain. As the rituals were performed over and over again, the voices raised, the minds opened to the Mother's ways, the power of the place had grown, until even the smallest child could feel its energy, like a vibrating pulse that rose from the sacred stone to enter their bodies. It seemed to attach them to the Goddess Herself as they spoke to Her and listened for Her voice.

  Zena sighed. To have found this place, so filled with the Mother's spirit, was wonderful, but she still had not found the open space of her dream. Surely, one of the passages must lead to it, open onto the cliffs.

  Voices interrupted Zena's absorption. Conar and Lilan were calling to say they would take the children with them when they went for food and water. Zena was glad. To have this opportunity to commune with the Mother was good. It was good, too, that she could once again feel joy in the Mother's presence. For a long time after she had discovered that Tron had helped to make the child within her, she had felt only the sense of wrongness, and a terrible restlessness that had made it almost impossible for her to listen to the Mother. Now, there was joy in her heart once again, and it was Conar who had helped her to get it back.

  Warmth filled her as she remembered. One day, as she had grieved over the child not yet born, Conar had taken her hand and brought her with him to another place deep inside the earth, just beyond the huge cave filled with needles they had first found.

  He had drawn her down beside him on a moss-covered patch of earth. There he had pulled all the wrongness from her body with his gentle, loving hands, had caressed her over and over until she felt herself flooded with life and joy. They had lingered so long that the stone lamps had sputtered and gone out, so that once again, they had to find their way through the tunnels in darkness. But by then, they had traversed them many times, and knew them so well they could laugh at their dilemma.

  The pleasure of remembrance made Zena's body tingle. Akat in all its forms was surely the Mother's finest gift. And that day, they had experienced every form she could imagine, except perhaps Akate. But if lust was not there, all else was. At first, she had felt mostly Akatale in the tenderness of Conar's embrace. Slowly, this feeling had merged into the slow sensuousness of Akatelo, a sensuousness that grew until it was so intense they could hardly bear it, just as the glowing embers of a fire grew redder and redder until they burst into flames. Later, after they had rested, the sensations had swelled into the perfect ecstasy of Akatelelo, Akat so spiritual, so totally encompassing that anyone who had experienced it never forgot. Then, they had felt truly one with the Mother. And in the end, as they had laughed together in the darkness, there had been Akato, full of play and childlike wonder.

  After that time, she had begun to live fully again, to trust that the Mother would show her the way. Conar had made this possible, Zena knew, but it was also Akat, especially Akatelelo, that had defeated the pain inside her, for then the Mother had entered her body, replacing the pain with joy.

  The joy was still there. Zena felt it strong and warm, deep in her belly. It was as if the Mother had entered her again as she thought of her time with Conar. Never before had Zena felt Her presence so strongly. The Mother, the Goddess, was inside her, all around her...

  Zena stiffened. The Mother had something to tell her. Soon, She would speak, but this time She would not speak of violence. She wanted to speak of Akat, except it was not quite Akat, but something more than Akat, something even greater.

  That was it! The Mother wished to speak of the new life that could come with Akat, if She willed it. She wanted Zena to think of this, to focus her mind on the miracle that brought new life to the tribe.

  Zena settled her mind. There were many steps, all perfect and precise, in this act of creation. First, a man entered a woman through the strong, narrow passage she held so secretly between her legs. If a child should form, it lived for many moons in the dark comfort of its mother's womb. Zena saw it there, floating serenely in its watery home, listening to the sound of its mother's heartbeat, but seeing nothing except the darkness. She watched it grow; each day it was bigger, stronger, until finally it was too big, and it kicked and twisted, trying to find comfort in the confining space. Another moon passed, and now the infant was so big it could barely move at all. Only when its head was down, pressed against the mother's bones, could it fit in its cramped enclosure. It pushed and shoved against the hard bones that blocked its passage, as if aware that finally it must emerge.

  She saw the infant begin to struggle, ready now to escape the warm, enclosing womb and emerge into the unknown world that lay beyond, but the passage was narrow, too narrow. The baby's head was squeezed and pummeled, but still it pushed, for there was no safety within any longer. The turmoil increased as the mother's body sought finally to expel the beloved burden. Contractions tore through the swollen belly; the mother writhed and twisted and moaned, desperate now to get the infant out, to hold it in her arms, feel it there, alive and warm against her breast.

  Pain floated around the laboring mother, darted inside and made her scream. It churned deep in her belly, in the bones, the skin that had to stretch too far, but she pushed it away from her mind, just as she pushed the infant away from her body. If ever she let herself hold the pain, remember it, she would suffer always. She was woman, and the Mother had entrusted her with this task, the hard, compelling task of bringing an infant forth. It was fraught with danger, but she was woman, and she would do it. And when all went well and the infant emerged,
strong and healthy, she knew she would feel a joy, an utter serenity, that came no other way. There was power, too, in this blessed act of creation, power that only a woman could know. Formed in the image of the Mother Herself, only woman could nurture new life within her body, feel an infant grow there and struggle to be born, know that it was her strength as well as the Mother's that allowed it to open its eyes for the first time to the light.

  Zena looked up at the light streaming into the cave. It seemed to beckon her, as light must beckon a newborn babe. Her eyes traced the shimmering beam to the opening high in the rocks from whence it came. No member of the tribe had gone there, for there was no way to reach that side of the cave except through the deep black pool. This, they did not wish to touch. The pool was sacred, for it was the womb that had nurtured the Mother Herself. To disturb its dark serenity seemed a violation.

  The light was shining on the center of the pool. Zena watched, entranced. It seemed to dance on the opaque surface, illuminating nothing beneath, only spreading out in a wide, luminous circle. She rose and went closer, mesmerized by the hazy, dancing light, by the softly glistening water. Perhaps, after all, the Mother wanted her to touch it, to feel its womblike fluidity. She knelt and placed her hand gently against the velvety blackness. Ripples formed where her fingers met the water. They shimmered away from her to the center of the pool, where the light waited.

  She must go toward it, toward the light. Zena was sure of it now. The Mother wanted her to enter the sacred womb from which She Herself had emerged, wanted Zena to feel the power, the joy of the birth that had brought the Mother to them so long ago.

  Gently, she put a foot into the black water. It was soft and warm, and smelled faintly of something familiar that she could not name. She placed her other foot beside the first. The ripples moved farther this time, drifting lazily toward the opposite side of the pool, toward the narrow shaft of brilliance that came from the outer world. It was a signal, she thought. The answer she wanted was there, beyond the pool, where the light came through.

  She took another step, then another. Slowly, the water deepened around her. She felt no fear, only a kind of ecstasy. The dark water seemed to embrace her, as if it had been waiting for her. She smiled, loving the sensation of softness and comfort. Now she knew the smell. It was the scent of her own body, the fluids that came from her when she embraced a man in Akat.

  The pool was the Mother's creation as well as Her womb, she realized suddenly. The Mother had been born of Herself, for She was all there was. She had created the deep black water even as it had nourished Her, had created the sacred chamber that was Her home. She had created everything they knew, the earth and skies and all that lay within them, even as they had given Her birth. Now she, Zena, must experience that birth. Like a child too big for its mother's body, she must struggle through the dark water, find her way out to the light. The Mother would speak through the light, and she must go there to hear Her voice.

  The water lapped gently at her belly, her breasts. She went farther. Abruptly, there was nothing beneath her feet. For a moment, her mind flashed back to the time when she had crossed the river, and fear stiffened her limbs. But then she felt the water holding her, as if she were no more than a leaf that had dropped on its surface. She lay quietly and waited. Slowly, the water moved her into the center of the pool. The light bathed her face, made her blink in its brilliance. It seemed to examine her, ask if she were ready. And then it disappeared.

  Suddenly, there was turbulence all around her. Ominous rumblings sounded deep within the pool, and an explosion of movement shoved her rudely in one direction, then another, as the water shifted and tumbled, oblivious to her presence. She was helpless against it. Now she was being squeezed, so that her limbs, her head, ached with the pressure. Slowly, relentlessly, the pool drew itself around her in an ever tighter embrace. It seemed not to be water now but to be solid, like the rocks.

  She drew in a huge breath as the squeezing water that was as heavy as the rocks pulled her down, whirled her body over itself so that her head was facing toward the bottom of the pool. Down she went, down and down and down.

  There was darkness, only darkness, smooth and black. It smothered her, but then she seemed gradually to spread out in it, so that she was huge, as encompassing as the darkness itself. A pinpoint of light appeared in the middle of the blackness and slowly expanded until the pool was saturated with strong, glowing light. The light entered her body, filled the cave, seemed to fill the whole earth.

  And then she knew. She knew everything that had ever been known, everything that had ever been thought by those who had come before her, those who would come after. All of it was here, in the deep pool that was both dark and light, both water and rock, that held her gently and pummeled her into its depths. This sacred place that was the Mother's womb, the Mother's creation, was more even than that, just as the Mother Herself was more than life. The pool was wisdom, a vast reservoir of wisdom, deep and unending, like the Mother Herself.

  She saw the earth, the waters, the moon and stars, the sun, the precious sun, moving in their spheres. They were one, even as they were separate; they moved together in endless rhythms that ordered the days, the nights, the storms and times of calm. Every leaf that ever fell, each massive tree or tiny insect or hungry animal was connected to the sun, the moon, the waters. Each star that lit the sky, each drop of rain that dampened the ground knew each other intimately, for they were one. Even the opposites were one: women and men, darkness and light, fluid and solid, the calm and the storm; they were all one, for they were nothing but movement, unceasing movement that was perfectly still even as it soared and swayed and danced.

  The wisdom came to Zena through her eyes, her ears, her skin, and she drew it lovingly into her body, her heart and mind. It was hers now, an integral part of her being, and she knew it would never leave her. Complex and mysterious, it was infinitely simple in its oneness. Chaos - all was chaos even as it was as ordered as the movements of the sun. It was perfect; all was perfect.

  As abruptly as it had seized her, the water let her go. It thrust her up in a great churning movement; she felt herself propelled across the pool, feared she would hit her head on the rocks beyond. Her hands reached out to soften the blow. They felt the rock, clung to it, as the water dropped her gently on a boulder. Light streamed into the cave again, the water was as still and dark as if nothing had ever happened.

  Zena took a deep, calming breath. The light was above her now, directly above her. She was almost there.

  Slowly, she pulled herself up the steeply layered rocks until she had reached the narrow opening that led to the outer world. She passed through it, hardly daring to look out. And then she could not look, for sunlight dazzled her eyes and she had to close them. When she opened them again, she gasped in recognition. Before her lay the open space high in the cliffs, the place where something waited. Finally, the Mother had shown her the way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Pulot burst into the clearing, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement. She had discovered something truly special for the children. They clustered around her, chattering excitedly.

  Full-grown now, Pulot had young ones of her own, but she still loved to play like a child, and could keep the children entertained for hours at a time. She was a wonderful help, Zena thought to herself, responsible and caring, but so lively and eager too.

  A wide grin split Pulot's flushed face. She stood still, struggling to bring her mouth back to its normal position. When the grin had disappeared, she lifted a slender reed to her lips and blew. A thin, breathy sound emerged. She blew harder, and a stronger sound pierced the air. The children clapped and jumped up and down, begging for a turn.

  Delighted at their enthusiastic response, Pulot began to strut around the clearing, piping as she went. She did not see the look of horror that had suddenly crossed Menta's face, but Zena saw it and frowned. Why should Pulot's new game cause Menta such distress?

  Lune ro
se and went to sit beside Menta. The fear was on her face, too, Zena saw. And then she remembered. It was the vision, Menta's vision, so long ago. In the vision, there were people, people like themselves, sitting around a fire, and one of them was blowing on a reed, making a sound like the one Pulot was making. And after that had come the screams...

  Surely, though, the fact that Pulot had found a new way to entertain the children did not mean that Menta's vision would come true. There had been no violence now in all the years since Tron had left. Zena had to remind herself constantly of the mission the Mother had entrusted to her, to keep the violence from coming. It was hard to know how to do such a thing when there was no one around who wished to harm them.

  Lune voiced Zena's thoughts. "The reeds do not mean your vision will come," she assured Menta. "It cannot be the same. The sound you heard was beautiful. I remember you said so. This sound is not beautiful."

  That is certainly true, Zena thought, relieved that the shrill piping was fading as Pulot led the children down the hill toward the marshes where she had found the reed. But they returned quickly, each holding one for themselves, and soon the clearing resounded with piercing, discordant noises. Zena shooed them away and went to join Menta and Lune.

  "I have not seen any of Menta's vision on the cliffs," she told them, trying to reassure herself as well as them. The fear in their faces had startled her and forced her to confront the sense of uneasiness that had plagued her recently. The feeling was so nebulous she managed to ignore it most of the time, but it never disappeared entirely.

  "The Mother shows me many things there, but she has not spoken of violence," she added, almost defiantly. "She speaks instead of the earth and its creatures, of the sky and sun and moon, shows me how they are connected, how intricate is the web of Her creation."