CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (41 page)

This time, she
grew so big she could hardly walk, and to her surprise, two infants rather than
one emerged.  Both were males, strong and healthy like their
brother.  After their birth, a year passed before the bleeding came
again.  Zena welcomed it as a familiar friend, and resumed her ritual of
returning the sacred blood to the earth.  When once again two moons passed
without the flow, she did not worry but understood that still another infant
was forming.  The blood did not emerge, she realized, when a new life
grew, but stayed within her to nourish the infant, as it nourished the
earth.  To her delight, the baby was a female.  Zena called her
Ceralak, after Cere and Ralak. 

As the years
passed, Zena continued to give birth at frequent intervals.  Three more
daughters came next, then another son arrived, and much later, one last
daughter was born.  The other women also gave birth during these years,
though not as often as Zena, for only to her did the Mother give the ability to
start another child before the first was weaned.  Metep bore two more infants,
Toro one, and Sima and Filar each had four when they grew old enough to bear
young.  Nyta never bore another infant, but she helped to care for all the
others.  The Mother never gave an infant to Clio, either, and Zena was
grateful.  Clio would not have understood.

Each time an
infant was born, Zena performed a special ritual in the circle of stones, to
thank the Mother who had given it life.  Holding the little one in her
arms, she spoke its name and asked the Mother for Her love and protection for
the fragile new life.  Then she sprinkled earth and water on the baby's
body, so the Mother would know how much they valued these precious gifts. 
She was certain the Mother heard her, for most of the children survived the
sicknesses that so often seemed to afflict little ones.

She performed the
ritual for infants born in nearby tribes as well.  She visited them often,
and like Kalar before her, she spoke to the people of the Mother and taught
them to follow Her ways.  As others had before them, they embraced the
Mother eagerly, as if She had long been within them and needed only Zena's
words to emerge. Zena made sure that the children from the various tribes also
understood the Mother's ways.  Most important, she told them, was to live
in harmony with the Mother's creatures, and with each other.  If any of
them did harm another child, or an animal, her anger was strong.  No one
was permitted to speak to the offender until the child had apologized to the
Mother and to all in the tribe.  At the same time, she loved them all
without restraint.  Kropor's story had taught her a valuable lesson. 
A child who was treated badly by adults was easily led to violence.  Her
formula seemed to work, for children grew up to be peaceful and loving.

Sima and Lupe
organized games like the ones Zena had once created for them for the growing
broods of children, as well as teaching them the ceremonies.  There were
many now, for death as well as birth, for the killing of an animal, though food
was so plentiful that was seldom necessary, for the coming of the rains. 
The dance for rain was everyone's favorite.  The ceremony had come to Zena
one day as she communed with the Mother in the circle of stones.  Her eyes
had risen to the clouds that were heavy with impending rain, though so far no
drops had fallen.  Suddenly, the strange confusion she had felt when she
had first created the circle of stones had overcome her again.  Without
volition, her feet began to move in rhythmic patterns, and she heard herself
calling words.  She felt as if another person had stepped into her body,
that this other, rather than herself, was moving and speaking.  The others
had come to join her, infected by the power of her words and movements. 
They had stamped in rhythm with Zena's stamping, had shouted the words until
their voices were hoarse, though they did not know why. 

Now, they
performed the ceremony every year.  As the rainy season approached, they
gathered in the circle of stones to repeat the hypnotic movements.  Over
and over again, their feet stamped against the ground, their heads rose high
toward the sky, then returned to the earth.  Words came from them, the
words for
Mother
, then the word for
rain
.  At first, their
voices were soft, the dance slow and relaxed.  But soon the pace increased. 
Their feet stamped harder, faster, in an ever-increasing tempo, and their
voices rang out in the dust-laden air, obscuring all other sounds.  The
women danced within the sacred circle, while the men danced just outside. 
Like Zena, they sensed the presence of others in their bodies as they moved,
and they knew without thinking where they belonged.

If thunder roared
and lightning flashed while they were dancing, the pace became still more
frenetic, their excitement even more intense.  The men grabbed sticks and
waved them in the air or pounded them against the earth, to imitate the thunder
and lightning, and the women danced in delirious circles until they sank to the
ground in exhaustion, only to rise and dance again.  At these times
especially, they felt truly a part of the earthforce, as they called its
restless spirit back to the ground with their pounding feet, their swaying
bodies and insistent voices, and held its awesome power within their
hearts. 

The wild abandon
of the dance helped them to understand Clio's behavior during storms, and to
accept her death when it came.  To whirl and stamp, calling on the
earthforce to release its rain, its thunder and lightning, was
intoxicating.  Clio had been born with the dancing in her, Zena thought,
for she had always been one with the earthforce.  And even though she
grieved at Clio's early death, it seemed fitting that it was the lightning she
adored that killed her; fitting, too, that Kropor died with her.

The storm that day
was particularly violent.  Clio charged out, with Kropor behind her, and
ran to the top of the ridge.  A huge old tree grew there, and she loved to
leap and whirl beneath its curving branches.  She had often danced there,
but on this day, the lightning chose the tree as its conduit back to the
earth.  Thicker and brighter than any Zena had ever seen, the jagged
streak tore through the gnarled old trunk and hit the ground, killing Clio and
Kropor instantly. 

"The Mother
has been kind,"  Zena said softly, when the shock of their death had
subsided a little.  "To lose Clio is hard, but to have the earthforce
claim her in this way would have pleased her.  And that the Mother took
Kropor with her..."

She did not have
to speak further.  No one wanted to imagine the agony Kropor would have suffered
if Clio had been taken from him.  It was best this way.

"See,"
Sima added, her voice shaking with sorrow.  "See; Kropor still holds
her hand, and her lips touch his face."

The others
nodded.  Clio and Kropor always slept close beside each other, with Clio's
small fingers curled in Kropor's big palm, her soft lips close against his
bristly cheek.

They buried them
that way, in a shallow hole near the base of the tree.  Increasingly, they
had come to believe that those who returned to the Mother should be enclosed in
Her earth, from whence all life sprang.  Covering them with fragrant
blossoms, they chanted words to tell the Mother of their love for these two
unique beings She had wrought.  They spoke of Clio's closeness to the
earthforce, of her special ways of knowing, her sweetness and love for
animals.  And when they spoke of Kropor, they spoke of change, how one
with violence in his heart could become so kind and tender, so happy to give
all, even his life, for those he loved.  Once difficult, they told the
Mother, this beloved male had become more compassionate than almost any other.

When all had
spoken, Zena commended Clio and Kropor to the Mother. "These two whom we
have loved can now return to Your all-encompassing heart," she said, her
voice strong with emotion.  "Keep them with You, for they have served
You well.  And if it is possible, I ask that Kropor, and Clio, too, may
now be reunited with Ralak.  Kropor loved her more than any other besides
Clio, and his face would light up with joy to see her again.

"Great
Mother, Giver of All Life, they are Yours again."  Zena's last words
hung for a moment in the air; then they began to fill the hole they had dug
with moist, crumbling earth, to keep Clio and Kropor safe and warm.

Three more times,
in the years that followed, they gathered to perform the death rituals for
members of Zena's original group.  Nyta died first, for she was old and
frail; Toro followed soon after.  Their deaths were hard, but for Zena,
Bran's death was hardest.  She found him one evening by the lake, where he
had gone to fish.  Nothing had happened, she thought, except that he had
simply ceased to breathe.  As she knelt by the familiar form, her heart
contracted with a grief so strong she had to gasp for breath.  Not since
the stampede had she felt such an agony of sorrow.  Bran had been her
stalwart friend, ready always to support and defend her.  She would miss
him terribly.

Though her grief
was strong, it did not linger.  Lotan was still there to comfort her, and
the tribe was growing so fast there was no time for sadness.  More and
more infants were born as the young ones grew up and had young of their
own.  Soon Zena's original group had swelled to more than a hundred, and
even the fertile valley the Mother had provided could not sustain them
all.  Some would have to find new homes, Zena decided, and she began to
train wise ones, so that each could lead a group into new territory.  She
had observed the young women carefully as they matured, and when they were old
enough, she selected as wise ones those who had a special closeness to the
Mother and a strong desire to learn Her ways.  She taught them everything
she knew, all she had learned from Kalar and Ralak, of the power of the
earthforce, of men and why they were different, of the need to accept the
Mother's wisdom even if it was hard to understand.

The practical
teachings were easiest.  A wise one needed to know the various plants for
healing, how to treat wounds and illness, the words and procedures for
rituals.  After that, the lessons were harder, for Zena tried to speak of
wisdom itself, of what it meant to be a wise one.

"To be strong
within yourself, kind and just with those you lead, is most important,"
she told the initiates.  "Always, the tribe needs a strong wise one. 
When there is no one who knows how to speak for the Mother, we forget how to
behave, and then there is no peace in the tribe.  I have seen this happen.

"That is why
your most important task is to learn to listen to the Mother and accept Her
messages.  To hear the Mother's voice is more important than all the
lessons I have given you, for She can guide you better than I.  Come with
me now to the circle of stones, and we will begin to practice."

For many moons
after that, Zena brought the initiates with her each morning and evening as she
listened for the Mother in the circle of stones.  Patience was needed to
hear Her voice, and the ability to still the mind.  That had been hardest
of all for Zena.  But the ones she trained did not find it as
difficult.  They had watched Zena for many years, and had often tried to
imitate her stillness, her openness, so they, too, could hear the Mother. 
Soon, many of them could hear the Mother's voice almost as well as she. 
Zena blessed them and sent them forth, for they were wise ones now.  Some
went west, into a great river valley that lay beyond the mountains. 
Others went north and east along the shoreline, or south into the plains. 

Of all the
potential wise ones, her youngest daughter was most intelligent, most clearly
of the Mother.  This last child had been born many years after Zena's
other sons and daughters, when she had thought herself past the time to bear
young.  At first, she had doubted the familiar feeling in her body. 
But early one morning the infant had kicked, and she had realized with wonder
that another new life truly was growing in her belly. 

The child had
lingered long in the womb, growing big and lusty, as her mother had.  Zena
carried her lovingly.  All through the long months, she felt calm and
serene, filled with the Mother's grace.  The infant seemed to sense her
mother's serenity, for when she finally emerged just as the sun slid over the horizon,
she did not wail but calmly looked around her. 

Zena smiled in
amusement at the baby's serious face, and wondered what she would call this
tiny female who seemed so wise already.  But deep in her heart she must
have known, for when the women asked her to name the newborn child, her lips
formed words she had not thought to say.

"Mina. 
This one will be called Mina, for she is my mother born again." 

As the child grew,
Zena knew she had been right.  Cere had spoken so many times of Mina, had
told how even as a child she had the promise of wisdom upon her.  Zena's
small daughter was the same.  From the beginning, she seemed to grasp the
Mother's ways as if they had been born within her.

Perhaps, Zena
thought, she had absorbed them in the womb, during that long, peaceful time,
and she was glad that this precious child would never have to experience the
pain and conflict she herself had felt so long ago.

Only once did Zena
see her daughter agonize over the right course of action.  Many times, she
had watched Mina look first at Lotan's eyes and then at the eyes of her brother
Kalet.  Always before, she had asked questions when there was something
she did not understand.  This time she never asked.  Each time her
lips moved to frame the question, they closed again, as Zena's had. 

She, too, had
guessed at the connection between mating and young ones, Zena realized; she,
too, knew intuitively that she must not express her suspicions aloud. 
Zena did not answer the unspoken query; instead, when she thought her daughter
was ready, she sent her to the nearby hill where the snake had appeared. 
And when Mina returned, Zena knew the Mother had spoken.  It was written
in Mina's face, in the horror and shock that lingered there.  Once again,
the forbidden knowledge was safe.