CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (32 page)

Abruptly, the
stillness was broken as hundreds of bats took flight.  They poured from
their hidden perches above Zena's head, flapping in strong, audible swaths as
they swirled through the dark cavern.  Zena felt the current from their
wings touch her face, her hair, but not one of the flying animals touched her
with its body.  The scream that had risen in her throat subsided, and
miraculously, her fear went with it.

She waded into the
inky pool.  Water slapped at her chest but rose no farther, only cleansed
her, pulled all the itching from her skin, the grime from her feet and
legs.  She relaxed into the pool's womblike softness, allowed it to
enclose her, comfort her in its dark embrace.  Its water was blessed; she
was sure of it.  She placed a hand on the glimmering surface in thanks as
she slid from its gentle grasp. 

Echoes of the
rustle of bats' wings, of water lapping against rock as the pool settled again
into stillness, bounced hollowly around her as she followed the bird up steep
rocks that rose like steps in the back of the cavern.  Then, suddenly,
there was light ahead.  Zena emerged into it and stared, surprised. 
She was more than halfway up the falls, but all around her were steep,
water-drenched rocks, too treacherous to cross.  Below her was a sheer drop
into nothingness.  She began to shake.  A thick vine hung near her
head.  She grabbed it, to steady herself.  Before her, the bird
perched on another vine and waggled its tail.  Zena took a deep breath and
clutched the vine with both hands as she inched forward.  Just as the vine
slipped from her fingers, she grabbed another, and another, until she stood
panting on a narrow ledge.  She dared not look down; she looked up
instead.

A level swath of
green beckoned.  She crawled to it, almost weeping in relief to be away
from the slippery rocks, and sank down to rest.  For a long time, she lay
quietly, listening to birds calling to each other in high, musical voices,
feeling strength flow into her from the earth.  Purple berries grew on low
bushes near her; she ate them, and they seemed to relieve both her hunger and
her fatigue.  She rose to continue her climb.  The brilliant bird
stayed always visible before her.

Abruptly, between
one step and the next, she emerged from the clinging vegetation into sand-colored
rock, heavily streaked with orange.  Exquisite flowers, with delicate waxy
faces like tiny gourds, grew in clumps between the rocks.  Zena knelt to
examine them, entranced by their beauty.  A sweet smell permeated her
nostrils; she drew it in and felt it swirl through her body.  Looking up
again, she saw that everything above her was open to the sky.  Even the
summit was visible.  It rose above her, golden in the sunlight, as she had
seen it in her vision.  

Slowly, she
climbed the last distance and lowered herself onto a flat boulder where the
bird had perched.  She sensed she had come to the end of her journey, and
she was right, for when she looked again for the bird, it had disappeared.

For a moment, the
valley spread below her once more, then the clouds closed in until she could
see only the small area around her boulder.  All else was wreathed in
mist.  Zena waited, aware of an intense stillness within her.  There
was no need to move, to search further.  What she sought would come to
her.

Time passed, and
she did not know it.  There were only the scents, the sounds, the
stillness in her body.  Presently, she became aware of a rustling noise as
something slithered toward her across the sandy soil.  She sensed rather
than saw what it was, and although her heart leaped into her throat when the
huge snake stopped before her, she was not surprised.  It was thick, as
thick as her arms together, and wide stripes of coral and tan decorated its
long body.  The serpent never took its eyes from her face as it coiled
itself by her feet and raised its flat, triangular head.  Its forked
tongue darted in and out of its mouth, and its small black eyes stared at her
unblinkingly.  It began to weave its head back and forth before her.

Zena did not
move.  The breath went in and out of her body so slowly she could barely
feel it.  Only her eyes responded, widening almost imperceptibly in fear
that was not really fear, so tinged was it with fascination.  She knew
that if she moved the snake would strike, but she knew, too, that it did not
matter, that nothing mattered except to watch the snake and follow its
movements.

She stared into
the snake's eyes, and as she stared, they became pools, and then they were one
great pool of blackness that held everything she had ever known or heard,
everything that was.  She saw Kalar's eyes there, and Ralak's, and the
eyes of many others, wise ones.  All their knowledge, their awareness and
wisdom, lay submerged in the fathomless depths of the serpent's gaze. 
Zena drew it in, through her eyes, her ears, her skin and nostrils, and felt it
settle in her heart. 

The snake's venom
was there, too, its power; she did not forget.  If she broke the
connection, it would be merciless.  It would strike and she would die.

She swayed with it
instead, slowly, in perfect rhythm, drowning in its eyes.  Down and down
she flowed into the depths of all that had happened before, all that would come
to be.  And slowly she knew what it meant to accept; to accept was
all.  There was no other way, only to absorb and to know all that came to
her from the deep pool of wisdom in the snake's eyes.  And when she knew
that this was so, with her heart and body as well as her mind, she emerged from
the depths of the all-encompassing blackness.  Now all was radiance, as she
had seen it earlier, except this radiance was so great it could not be
absorbed.  It washed over and through her and out upon the earth. 
Voices came through it, Kalar's voice and Ralak's, the voices of all those who
would come after to live and die by the Mother's ways.  They spoke to
Zena, only there were no words.  Their messages came from the knowledge of
their bodies, knowledge distilled from the earth and sky.  Zena felt the
power that came from their wisdom, as if a cord as thick as the serpent connected
her to a place deep within the earth, then stretched high into the sky to touch
the sun and the moon.  They were her body and she was theirs,
inseparable.  To break the cord would be to risk not just her death but
the death of the earth as well, for all life was the same.  One life
merged into another; each returned to the earth so that new life could begin
again.  And all of it was the earthforce and the Mother.

The wisdom coursed
through Zena, wisdom that came to her body and heart when her mind forgot its
struggle to comprehend.  She felt it fill a secret place inside her, a
place that had waited, haunted in its emptiness, while she had raged against
the Mother.  There was nothing in her now but her body's knowledge of
earthquakes and storms, of droughts and floods that had come and would always
come, of the passage of the cool, impervious moon through its phases, of the
rains that would drench the earth or stubbornly refuse to fall.  Above
them all was the sun, the glorious sun, pouring its warmth onto the
earth.  It pulled the plants, the trees and flowers upward with its energy,
then sucked all moisture from the land with its brutal heat.  Like the
rains, it gave life and took it away.  Always it was so.

Still now,
quiescent, she felt another truth emerge.  The Mother was the earthforce,
as Ralak had said, but She was more.  The earthforce was all that had ever
happened, all that would come as the moon grew round, then shrank to a sliver,
as the sun rose and disappeared, as the rains came and the earth cracked apart
with drought.  The Mother was all these things and more.  She was the
very best of all that came to their minds and hearts: the caring that bound
them to each other, the hope they carried with them when an infant was born, the
joy they felt when the rains came, even the pleasure of an unexpected piece of
ripe fruit, or a brilliant bird or flower.  The Mother was their sorrow
when illness came, their pain when She took the ones they loved back to Her
heart in death. Even as they grieved, She gave them something precious, in the
caring they felt for the one who suffered, in their awareness of Her
all-encompassing heart, the heart that absorbed them once more when they ceased
to breathe.  The Mother was wisdom and knowledge and love.

Zena opened
herself to the Mother.  No thoughts, no feelings intruded as she sat
motionless, knowing only the Mother.  Time passed that was not time, for
each instant was as brief as the darting of the snake's tongue, even as it
stretched to encompass all the time that had ever passed. 

Slowly, so slowly
she did not know it had happened, Zena crumpled to the earth and slept. 

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

When she opened
her eyes, the snake was gone.  For a moment, Zena wondered if it had been
there at all, or if she had only dreamed its presence.  But then she
looked down at the earth by her feet and saw its skin.  It had shed its
skin as she had shed the skin of her childish anger. 

She reached down
to touch the transparent tissue, as if to touch herself as a child for the last
time.  Then she jumped to her feet, compelled by a sudden sense of urgency
that drove all other thoughts away.  Ralak had been with her on the
mountain; Zena had felt her thoughts, known her presence.  But now the wise
woman's strength was almost gone.  Zena could feel it fading.  The
earthforce, the Mother, were waiting to reclaim  her. 

Heedless of the
steep descent, Zena began to run.  She slithered and tumbled down the
mountain, barely noticing the steep, slippery cliffs, the wild scramble beside
the waterfall or the struggle to part the heavy vegetation that followed. 
All her energy was focused on reaching Ralak.  Only when she found herself
beyond the marsh and entering the woods did a brief awareness of her route return,
and she wondered how she had managed to find her way without the bird to guide
her.

Terror drove the
thought from her mind as she raced through the trees and into the
clearing.  She did not see the others; she saw only the shelter, then
Ralak's face.  She was still, too still.  Her eyes were closed, her
skin waxen.  Zena knelt beside her, fear thudding in her heart.  She
had never been able to speak to Kalar again, but she wanted to hear Ralak's
voice, just one more time.

"Please,"
she breathed to the Mother, "please let her live a moment longer."

As if she had
heard, Ralak slowly opened her eyes.  Zena took her hand, so thin now it
was no more than a bare bit of skin with bones beneath, like the fragile
skeleton of a baby bird that had never eaten.  But though it came as no
more than a whisper, there was still power in Ralak's voice.

"You have
been to the mountain," she said, staring into Zena's face. 
"Good."  She smiled, and some of the old spark came into her
eyes. 

"Now you are
of the Mother, truly Hers.  But still you must find food and water, as the
others do.  The Mother trips those who become proud." 

The typically
pungent words brought a smile to Zena's anxious face.  She would not
forget them.  The smile faded quickly as humility poured into her. 
Ralak was dying, and now she must be the wise one.  She must learn to be
like Ralak, like Kalar and all the other wise ones who had come before and
would come after.  It was an awesome challenge.

Ralak spoke again,
but now the power had left her voice, and Zena knew she was almost gone.

"Be of the
Mother,"  she whispered in blessing.  "Your strength will
come from the earthforce, your wisdom and courage from the Mother.  Only listen,
and they will guide you."

Ralak stared once
more into Zena's eyes, then she sighed, a long, deep sigh, and gave up the
effort to stay alive.  During all the long hours Zena had spent on the
mountain, she had clutched at the earth, willing its strength into her frail
body so she could take just one more breath.  Now she could let go. 
The earthforce was waiting to reclaim her, and she slid willingly into its
grasp.

Zena felt her go,
as if a connection between the earth and Ralak's hand and her own fingers had
been broken.  Even as she neared death, Ralak had transmitted the power of
the earthforce through her hand.  Now the flow was reversed, as her life
drained back into the earth that had sustained her so many times.  Zena
let the lifeless fingers slip to the ground.

An agonized howl
broke the silence.  Zena jumped up, startled.  She had almost
forgotten the others.  The howl had come from Kropor.  He ran to
Ralak and bent over her, but leaped up again immediately.  No breath moved
between the lips of the tiny female he adored, and her eyes stared at him
sightlessly.  He howled again, over and over, long, anguished howls that
resounded through the clearing, caused all the birds to take flight, the
animals to run into their burrows.

The howling seemed
suddenly not to satisfy him.  He looked wildly around until he spotted a
large branch that had fallen from a nearby tree.  Grabbing it with both
hands, he began to run around the clearing, sweeping the limb noisily behind
him in huge arcs.  Everything in its path, digging sticks, baskets, food,
even the children, were swept away.  When there were no more objects
anywhere in the clearing, Kropor stood still and raised the big branch over his
head, then brought it to the ground with all his strength.  Again, he
raised the limb, again it plunged to the ground with a fearful whack. 

The children
huddled near the shelter, terrified by the noisy display.  Kropor
approached them, seeming not even to see them, and raised the stick
again.  They ran, all but Clio, Ralak's young one.  Her prolonged and
arduous birth had left indelible marks on her as well as her mother. 
Caught too long between womb and outer world, she had received sustenance from
neither.  No watery nourishment had come through the cord that attached
her to her mother's body, and she had been unable to reach the life-giving air
that would replace it.  And so a part of her had died.