CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (34 page)

Sima and Lotan
returned, interrupting her thoughts.  They were flushed and breathless,
and worried.  Lotan nodded soberly as Zena raised a questioning face.

"Lion,"
he said.  "Many, I think."  His lips tightened, and he went
off to sit by himself, with his head in his hands. 

Zena looked
compassionately at his slumped figure.  All of them had been upset by
Clio's disappearance, but for Lotan her loss had been devastating.  She
was always in his thoughts.  Only when Zena mated with him did he seem to
forget.  Then, both of them lost themselves completely in the
sensations.  For Zena, the pleasure was more than physical.  Mating
gave her a feeling of closeness to the Mother that reminded her of the intense
unity she had felt on the mountain.  Strangely, as she immersed herself in
purely sensual feelings, she seemed to spring free of the body that created
them and enter the realm of her heart.

Lotan felt some of
this unity as well, but it quickly disappeared.  As soon as they had
rolled apart, his face grew strained and weary once again, as thoughts of Clio
returned.

Zena shook her
head in dismay.  If lions were hunting near the shelter, they would have
to leave, even if they had not found Clio.  The danger of an attack was
too great, especially without fire.  All their burning sticks had gone out
in a drenching rain, and they had been unable to find more.  The thought
of leaving distressed her because of Clio, but in another way it was a
relief.  Ever since her trip to the mountain, she had felt a terrible restlessness,
a restlessness that grew each day until she thought she would burst with
it.  She was supposed to lead the tribe to a new home; she knew it
absolutely, from the dreams.

They came every
night, and they were always the same.  She saw herself walking in a lush
valley enclosed by high plateaus.  Smoking mountains loomed behind the
hills.  Far ahead was a body of water that stretched all the way to the
horizon.  As she came close to it, her feet sank into soft, grainy earth
that sparkled white in the sunlight, unlike any earth she had seen
before.  Always, the sun rose on her right as she traveled, and set on her
left.  Always, too, she felt a strong sense of urgency.  She must go
to this place soon, and she must take the others with her.  Sometimes she
thought she saw Clio with them as well, although that seemed impossible, and a
big, stooped male that looked like Kropor.

The big male's
face never came clear, so she could not tell.  Now it dissolved into
Bran's face.  He was standing in front of her, waiting for her eyes to
focus on him. 

"They hunt
near here,"  he told her soberly.  "There are many.  Two
cubs at least, more than half grown, and one or two males, and the lioness. 
We must keep the young ones close, and never go alone to look for
food." 

She nodded,
appreciating his knowledge.  Bran could understand tracks better than
any.  All of them were becoming increasingly dependent on him, as the
oldest male.  Always, his advice was helpful, his support
unstinting. 

"We must
leave soon," she murmured, so quietly that only Bran heard.  She
hated to say the words aloud, for they meant Clio would never be found. 
Still, she must not shrink from uttering them.  The whole tribe was her
responsibility, more than any single member.  Sometimes, it was necessary
to be ruthless.  And it was possible that the child was all right. 
Otherwise, why would the Mother give her that feeling of peace?

She went to Lotan
and put an arm around his shoulders.  "Perhaps Clio is all
right," she told him.  "The Mother sends peace to my mind when I
think of her." 

Her words did not
comfort Lotan as she had intended.  "Perhaps that is because She has
taken Clio back to Her heart already," he replied bitterly. 
"Perhaps that is why you feel peace, why we cannot find her.  The
lion may have taken her, or some other animal."

Zena
grimaced.  She should have thought of that explanation.  Lotan was
right.  Probably Clio was dead.

Lotan picked up
the statue he had been carving and scraped at it furiously, but after a time
his movements slowed and he became absorbed in the task.  He loved
carving, and had become very skillful at making wide-hipped figures, like the
ones Lett had once made.  Zena had realized how important the statues were
when Metep had given birth.  She had struggled all through the terrible
night when they had lost Clio, and by morning, Toro had been desperate with
anxiety.

"She is too
small," Toro had wailed.  "The baby cannot come, and she will
die!"

Seeing her
distress, Nyta had brought out the figure she had rescued from the circle of
stones.  Reverently, she had placed it in Zena's hands.  Following a
strong impulse, Zena had drawn it slowly along Metep's straining body from
navel to crotch, over and over again, as if pulling the infant forth.  The
gesture seemed to help, for the baby had been born soon after. 

Now Metep, and
Toro, even Sima, wanted a figure.  Toro especially had been impressed by
the statue's magic.  She had stared at Zena with awe-struck eyes as Zena
had drawn the figure along Metep's body, and had wondered at her power. 
Ralak's talk of the earthforce and Zena's explanations of the Mother had never
made much sense to Toro.  But she did understand this.  The small
figure contained powerful magic, and the magic came through Zena.  Toro
began to listen carefully to all that Zena said, and the clumsy but
recognizable statue Lotan made for her became her most prized possession. 

Zena patted her
own belly.  She needed a figure for herself. An infant was growing in her
body, still so tiny it could barely be felt.  The Mother had blessed her
in this way, too.

When the day
ended, she called a council, so that all could participate in making the
decision.

"I have not
spoken before because of Clio," she told the others, "but now I
believe it is time to tell you what the Mother shows me."  She
described the vision she had seen so many times, told of the beautiful valley
and high plateaus, the vast water that seemed to have no end, and the strange
white earth.  She did not mention Clio and Kropor, lest she raise false
hopes, but spoke instead of the peace that came to her when she thought of
Clio.

"Perhaps the
Mother protects her, and she is all right; perhaps She has taken Clio back to
Her heart, as Lotan thinks.  I cannot tell," she finished. 

Subdued murmurs
greeted her statements, but for a long time no one spoke.  Bran broke the
silence.

"We must
leave," he said quietly.  "Zena has seen the Mother's way in her
visions.  We must follow.

"I, too,
believe the Mother has taken Clio back to Her heart," he added, glancing
at Lotan.  "The child belongs to Her now, and we need not worry
anymore."

Toro looked
mournful.  "It is hard to leave without Clio, but I would also like
to see Kropor again," she said sadly.  "He was part of this
tribe too."

The others nodded,
understanding that she had cared very much for Kropor.  They missed him
too.  Kropor had been difficult sometimes, but still his absence left a
hole in their lives.

"He could
return one day," Zena comforted Toro, "when his grief is less."

Toro shook her
head.  "We will leave, and he will not find us," she said
sadly.  "And I think he likes best to be alone, with Ralak
gone." 

Loud roars, harsh
against the background of gentle night sounds, interrupted her words.  The
lions were calling to each other.  Perhaps they had made a kill.  The
children shivered and moved closer to the adults.  Three-Legs cuddled
against Zena, her liquid brown eyes full of alarm.  Even the frogs and
insects ceased their chirping, as if to listen.

"We must
leave.  I agree with Bran."  It was Nyta's voice, firm despite
the fear the lions' roars had aroused.

"The Mother
has given me a new infant, and I do not want it born here, where the lions
might take it,"  she added, looking down at her swollen belly.

Lotan nodded
reluctantly.  "One more time I will search for Clio, when the light
comes.  Then we leave."

There was no sign
of Clio in the morning.  There had never been any sign of her.  Once,
Bran had found some footprints that led to a tree, but then they stopped
abruptly.  It was as if Clio really had followed the moon straight into
the sky, Zena thought, leaving no tracks behind her.

They set off
eagerly despite their sorrow.  The lions had snuffled around the clearing
during the night, frightening all of them, and they were glad to get away. 
They moved fast, for the route was cool and pleasant, through deep forest that
stretched north for many miles before giving way to open savannah.

By nightfall, they
had reached the edge of the woods.  Zena decided to stay in the
trees.  A storm was brewing, and she did not want to spend the night
unprotected on the open plains.  All afternoon, heavy black clouds had
spilled from an invisible place beyond the horizon and stretched across the
sky, thickening as they moved.  As darkness descended, they solidified
into an impenetrable mass that blotted out the stars.  The wind rose and
began to shriek through the closely packed trees, so that they rubbed together
and made ominous, creaking noises. 

Rain slashed
suddenly at their faces.  Quickly, they gathered branches to make a
shelter, but as soon as they had the branches in place, a howling gust of wind
tore them down and scattered them around the forest floor.  Lotan pointed
to a deep depression in the earth, where a huge tree had been uprooted.

"In there,"
he shouted above the still-rising wind.  "Pull the branches over our
heads." 

Metep and Toro ran
to the hole and crouched against the ground, trying to shelter the infants with
their bodies.  The little ones would not be able to tolerate exposure to a
storm as violent as this one for long.  The rain was torrential, the wind
merciless, and it was very cold.  Even Three-Legs was shivering, despite
her fur.

Zena grabbed a
branch and pulled it after her as she slid into the hole.  The others
imitated her, but it was no use.  The wind tore them away, and finally
they gave up the struggle and simply huddled together for warmth.  The
huge root ball of the fallen tree protected them from the wind, and after a
while, the heat of their closely packed bodies provided some relief.

Another tree
crashed to the ground behind them.  Its heavy trunk slashed through the
air and came to rest on the earth-encrusted roots that sheltered them. 
Miraculously, no one was hurt.  The leafy crown of the tree hung over them,
scratching their arms and faces, but it also protected them from the driving
rain.  Zena was grateful but uneasy.  The tree could settle again at
any moment, and crush them with its weight, but there was nothing she could
do.  It was too cold, too dangerous, to try to move.  She would have
to trust in the Mother's protection. 

Gradually, the
wind dropped and the rain became a light drizzle, but the night was utterly
black, and the temperature continued to drop.  They huddled still closer
and set themselves to survive the night.  Zena tried to imagine the sun
beating down, pulling the cold from them with its fiery heat.  Then she
visualized the warmth of fire, imagined her hands and feet tingling in its
glow.  After a while, her body did seem to grow warm with the imagined
heat.  She took the young ones into her arms and held them tightly, one at
a time, until she felt the warmth enter their bodies, too.  But as soon as
she let them go, they started to shiver again.  Filar, Cere's little one,
who had so magically survived the stampede, was shaking so hard her teeth
clacked together.

A low growl and
the sound of padded feet brought Zena upright with fear.  Something was
out there, prowling.

"Leopard." 
Bran's voice made her jump.  He stood and began to yell loudly, waving his
arms.  The others woke and added their voices, and the babies
screamed.  The clamor was deafening, and Zena saw the leopard's shadowy
form bound away, but toward dawn, she heard it again, pacing restlessly near
the hole where they lay miserably shivering, stiff with cold and fear.

"We need
fire," she said to Bran, her voice low and desperate.  "If we
had fire, it would not dare to come so close."  But she knew there
was little chance of finding it. The storms that brought lightning came only
during the season of rain, and that was still many moons away.  Until
then, there would be no burning sticks.

Zena crouched
deeper in the hole, trying to stop the constant shaking of her body so she
could concentrate on opening herself to the Mother, as she always did when they
needed help.  Her eyes closed despite her resolve, for she had not slept
all night, but even in sleep, her mind continued to wrestle with the problem,
and she dreamed.  She saw Lett, long ago, sharpening his stones in the
clearing by the river.  Sparks flew from the stones as he worked. 
Zena stared at the sparks, watched them scatter and go out, and then she saw
them merge into one big spark, a spark that began to burn fiercely.

Filar's straining
body interrupted her dream.  The child was trying to clamber out of the
hole, but she was only four and her legs were too short.  Zena pushed her
up and followed her slowly into the cold morning air, still preoccupied with
her dream.

"Stones,"
she said to Bran.  "We must strike them together, very hard."

Bran looked at her
dubiously.  Had the terrible night affected her senses?  But when he
saw her striking one stone against another with utter concentration, he, too,
found some and imitated her movements, trusting that she knew what she was doing.
Lotan watched, and found stones for himself.  They struck them against one
another over and over, but nothing happened.