CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (3 page)

CHAPTER
TWO

Night
fell in total blackness.  Mountainous clouds scudded heavily across the
sky, obscuring the sliver of moon.  Only once did it escape, and its
appearance was so quick, so ghostly, that it seemed a mirage.

Numb
with shock and grief, Zena barely moved as the hours passed.  Below her,
the raging current tore at the banks of the river, pulling bushes, animals,
even trees into its widening grasp.  Water crept relentlessly up the
hillside, erasing the life that had grown there since the rains came.  It
slapped at the boulders by her entrance, sending cold trickles toward her
feet.  She shivered and drew them closer to her body.

Toward
dawn, the deluge lessened.  The lashing of heavy rain became a soft
patter, and wind no longer screamed through crevices in the rocks.  Now
Zena could hear other noises besides the savagery of the storm.  A
rhythmic swishing accompanied the passage of pebble-laden water up and down the
hill, and there were soft, scrabbling noises, as if an animal with padded claws
was prowling above her refuge.

She
stiffened.  The musty smell that had alarmed her mother that first day had
returned.  Then, directly overhead, she heard a low, ferocious
growl.  The menacing sound had meaning for her.  Though she had
forgotten her former troop-mates, she would never forget the piercing screams
one of them had uttered when a tiger had sprung upon her and dragged her
away.  A picture of the great cat, with its huge curved teeth, appeared in
her mind, and she shrank back against the protecting rocks.

The
tiger was pacing; she could hear it moving restlessly, back and forth across
the top of the rock pile.  The pacing stopped and the footsteps came
closer.  Hardly daring to breathe, Zena crept noiselessly into the
farthest corner of her refuge.  Just as she moved, a massive paw thrust
through the entrance, and tearing claws scraped the earth where she had been
sitting.  The paw retreated, and the tiger began to dig energetically,
hurling its strength first at one side of the boulders that framed her
enclosure, then another. The torrential rains that had driven it back to its
high lair had made hunting difficult, and it was hungry. But her mother had
chosen well, and the huge predator could not find a way to enter. 

The
digging stopped and Zena heard the tiger pad over her head in the direction of
its cave.  For a long time she dared not move, even to relax her cramped
legs, lest it hear her and try once more to enter.  Finally, she gathered
her courage and crept warily toward the entrance.  She should try to
escape now, before the huge cat began to prowl again.  

Stiff
with caution, she thrust her head out and scanned the area, muscles tensed to pull
her back at the slightest sign of danger.  But she could see nothing
except the ravages of the storm.  All around her lay devastation. 
The clumps of green between the rocks, the emerging grasses and flowers had
been swept away, the puddles drained of life.  Sticks and branches, even
trees, torn from their roots in the mountains to the west, littered the
hillside.  And still the water was rising, even though the rains had
stopped.  It lapped loudly at the boulders, and with each wave it crept
higher.

The
musty smell was strong, and she saw the tiger's scat on a nearby rock. 
Zena whimpered anxiously.  Without her mother to guide her, she did not
know what to do.  She could not live near the huge cat, but she was afraid
to run, lest it hear her and attack.  It could be returning from the hunt
already, or perhaps it was waiting nearby, hidden in its lair, behind a rock.

Fear
sent her scurrying back to her corner.  All that day and the following
night, she cowered in the cave, shivering with cold as water crept around her
legs.  Hunger gnawed at her belly, but the anguish of being alone was even
harder to bear.  She wanted desperately to feel her mother's warm body, to
smell her comforting scent and the fresh, milky odor of the baby.  But they
were gone, and they would not return. 

She
dozed fitfully.  Hunger and cold and dreams would not let her rest for
long.  Over and over again, she was jerked awake as images of her mother,
arms raised against the deluge, vied with pictures of the fierce predator
above.  But she did not hear it again, and finally she fell into a deep
and dreamless sleep.

She
was awakened by sunlight streaming into her eyes from a crack in the rocks
above. Reassured by the return of the sun, and prompted by hunger, she dared to
poke her head out of the shelter again.  There was no sign of the tiger,
and its smell seemed fainter, so she emerged.  The water had retreated,
leaving enormous puddles filled with litter from the storm.  Below her,
the river ran swollen and fast, its waters muddy.  But it did not rage as
harshly as it had the day before, and sun sparkled on the crests of its
ripples.

She
began to investigate the debris-filled puddles on the hillside below the
cave.  No tadpoles were visible in the muddied water, but there were a few
uprooted plants, their bulbs shining white, and many insects, as well as a dead
rodent.  The bulbs and insects she ate immediately, but she was reluctant
to smash at the rodent and alert the tiger.  Instead, she found a sharp
rock and turned back toward her enclosure to eat it. 

As
she turned, her eye caught a stealthy movement on the boulders. 
Instantly, her muscles were rigid with fear.  A sharp cry froze in her
throat as she watched the tiger emerge from its lair.  It pulled itself
out and stretched, lifting its muscular haunches and massive head high in the
air, while its long, tawny back curved toward the rocks.  Then it padded
slowly toward her cave.  It sniffed the area carefully, turned a few times
and lay down facing her.  Its great paws hung over the entrance to her
shelter, obscuring it completely.

Resting
its muzzle on its paws, the tiger yawned.  Zena stared, mesmerized by the
long, curved teeth that framed its mouth, the gaping cavern between them. 
The blinding sun made her eyes water, but she dared not look away or even
blink, for the huge predator still had not seen her.  Then a lizard that
had been sunning itself on the rocks scuttled away from the big animal's
shadow.  The tiger lifted its head lazily to watch the retreating
reptile.  Zena saw its yellow eyes scan the area toward the river and come
slowly to rest on her face.  For a long moment, it stared fixedly at her,
its tail twitching.  Then it pulled itself up and began to lope toward
her.

Zena
screamed.  There was no escape.  The river, with its wild and swollen
current, lay behind her.  In front, between her and her refuge, was the
tiger. Terror paralyzed her body; only her eyes moved, darting frantically
between the cave and the river.  But then the great cat roared, and the
horror of the sound released her.  Down the hill she charged, legs clumsy
with fear.  Rocks and sticks tripped her, and she stumbled in the deep
puddles.  She ran on, straining to breathe against the pounding in her
chest.

The
rushing torrent came closer.  Zena stopped, terrified by its angry
clamor.  Growling ferociously, the tiger broke into a run.  In three
great strides, it was beside her.  Screaming, she plunged into the river.

Immediately,
the turbulent current pulled her legs out from under her.  She struggled
to regain a footing and gasped for breath as the river sucked her down and
tossed her mercilessly as it tore through the high banks.  Her head popped
up for a moment, and she drew in a great gulp of air. Then, helpless, she went
down again.  Branches dragged at her, pulling her under until her lungs
screamed with pain.  She wrenched herself free and lurched forward,
tossing and bumping.

A
large stick knocked her shoulder.  She grabbed it and hauled herself up to
the surface, managed to take a meager breath before the limb was torn from her
grasp.  Down she went again; water filled her eyes, her ears, her
nose.  Flailing and kicking, she tried to right herself, but she could not
fight the tempestuous river.  Her body went limp, and she barely noticed
when the raging water tossed her up to the surface, then buried her again, sent
her careening into rocks and sunken branches. Then, more than a mile from the
place where she had plunged in, it pummeled her into a boulder on the far bank.
The impact pulled at her consciousness and she clutched the rock with desperate
strength.  With a final heave, the current sent her sprawling toward the
sand.  Her head hit the boulder, and she lay still. 

Almost
an hour later, she moved.  Her body was tightly wedged between two
rocks.  Water pulled harshly at her feet, but her face lay safely on the
sand.  She retched violently, and felt a ringing pain in her head. 
After a time it subsided, and she hauled herself determinedly up the bank, away
from the clutching water.  There she stayed for many more hours, while the
sun poured its restoring warmth onto her bruised body.

When
she stirred again, the light was fading.  She struggled to her knees, then
tried to get to her feet, vaguely aware that she must find shelter.  Dizziness
and nausea overcame her, and she fell back heavily.  She gave up the
effort to rise and crawled instead, dragging herself tenaciously away from the
water.  Her eyes were clouded with the tears of her retching, and she did
not know she had reached some low bushes until thorns scratched at her
face.  She pulled herself into them, oblivious to the pain.  When it
seemed that the bushes were all around her, protecting her with their barbs,
she collapsed against the hard earth.

**************************

Zena
groaned.  Every part of her body ached, and she was cold, numbingly,
agonizingly cold.  The wet chill of the ground seemed to have penetrated
her bones as she slept.  She could not stop shivering, and the compulsive
movements tortured her bruised flesh.

She
made an effort to rise, but thorns tore at her, and she could not bear this
further pain.  So she lay still, mewing softly to herself.  The
sounds comforted her, almost as if another of her kind had uttered them.

Finally,
the sun rose over the ridge of mountains to the east.  Its warmth, still
tentative in the early morning air, touched her shoulder as she lay curled in a
tight ball.  It gave her the strength to crawl forward a few yards. 
Panting, and nauseated again with the effort, she rested again until the sun
was high and had sent its heat coursing through her body.  Then, with a
final push forward, she emerged into open savannah.

The
first thing she saw were legs, many long slender legs, scattered across the
plain.  Her eyes followed the legs up to rounded bellies, and on to the
graceful necks and tossing horns of a herd of antelopes.   She stared
at them; in the seven short years of her existence, she had seen them only once
before, and this she had forgotten.  Before the drought, they had come
each year to graze on the lush grasses that appeared almost overnight when the
rains came.  Since the year of her birth, they had not come at all. 
Now, following ancient instincts telling them greenness had returned to this
part of the savannah, they had returned.

She
did not fear them, sensing intuitively that the long-legged creatures meant her
no harm.  Her instincts also told her to watch them carefully.  If
they jumped suddenly in alarm, a predator could be near.  But they were
feeding peacefully, so she pulled herself painfully upright and ventured onto
the plain. 

A
triangle of verdant grasses stretched before her, framed on one side by the
river, on the other by towering mountains, purple in the distance. 
Directly ahead, across the plain, were a series of low hills sprinkled with
boulders.  Toward these she headed, for she knew from her mother that
boulders meant possible safety.

She
moved slowly, looking for tubers and other edibles as she walked, stopping
often to rest.  Once, she came across some termite mounds.  As her
mother had taught her, she poked a stick carefully into one of the nests. 
When she pulled it out again, it was covered with scurrying insects.  She
grimaced as they crawled up her fingers and tickled her lips, but she licked
them up and ate them with relish.

The
sparkle of water caught her eye as she neared the hills at the edge of the
plain.  She approached it cautiously.  The sucking mud she had
encountered with her mother and the violence of the river had made her
wary.  But this water lay still and placid in its bowl-shaped depression,
and grasses grew right up to its edge.  Near its center was a large, flat
rock.  As she approached, a small, dark green creature she had never seen
before jumped from the rock and plopped into the water.  Ripples rose
around the place where it had landed.  Zena stared at them, waiting for
the animal to reappear, but there was no further movement.  Finally,
satisfied that no danger was present, she knelt to drink. 

Shelter
was foremost on her mind as her shadow lengthened.  She went first to the
boulders she had seen from the far side of the plain, but they were widely
scattered and none had a suitable enclosure.  She looked on all the other
hillsides where there were rocks, but still found nothing.  Discouraged
and weary, she sat down to rest near the crest of a long ridge that ran along
the eastern side of the pond.

The
shadow of a huge pair of wings darkened the ground in front of her, and she
ducked into some bushes to escape detection.  She was not fast
enough.  The shadow passed slowly across her body twice again.  She
could hear the rush of wings as the vulture swooped, turned, and swooped once
more.

Zena
whimpered with terror.  Vultures had always frightened her.  Almost
every day of her childhood, she had watched them yank savagely at carcasses
bleeding into the dry earth, had felt her stomach turn at the scent of death
and rot.  The ugly, naked heads with the fearsome beaks that jabbed and
tore at defenseless flesh, the piercing talons that grabbed any creature too
weak to crawl away, were imprinted deeply in her memory.  Now that she was
alone, the images were more terrifying than ever.