CIRCLES IN THE SKY (The Mother People Series Book 2)

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  They sat and looked at each other. "We will be all right," Lotar said stoutly.

  Balinor did not look so sure. She was crying softly, as she had each night since the raid. "I want Marita," she sobbed. "I want Marita to come."

  Lotar pulled her into his arms. "Zena and I will take care of you," he told her. "Marita cannot come any more."

  Balinor's sobs ceased after a while and she fell asleep. Zena and Lotar sat close together, staring up through the big hole at the sky. It was covered with stars, more than Zena had ever seen before. She went and fetched the Goddess, to give her courage.

  "The Mother's chamber is gone," she said quietly. "And all the others are dead."

  Lotar nodded, looking hard at the ground to hide the tears that had sprung up behind his eyes. "We will be all right," he repeated stubbornly, but it was hard to keep his voice from shaking. The men who had raided the big caves were probably dead, but there could be others still roaming the area. And there were bears, and probably wolves, and he was not sure what else. Every night, when he had traveled with Balinor, fear had kept him awake much of the night, and he was tired, so very tired...

  "Yes," Zena agreed. "We will. But I am glad not to be alone any more. You were very brave to find me."

  Lotar did not answer. Zena looked at him questioningly and saw that he was sound asleep. She put some more branches on the fire and lay down beside him, still holding the figure of the Goddess in her arms.

  "Great Mother," she said, "I thank you for bringing Lotar to me, to dig me out of the caves. And Balinor as well." She looked intently at the Goddess, trying to think what else she should say. She had such a kind, gentle face, not a severe one like some of the figures. The round eyes and cheeks reminded her of Marita.

  Zena thought of Marita, of all the people who had lived so peacefully together until the men with knives had come, and once again, she seemed to feel their presence. It was as if they were all around her, protecting her. Slowly, her eyes closed, and she slept without moving for many hours. Then a dream came to her, a strange dream. Someone was calling, and she thought it was Marita. But Marita was gone; she knew that even in her dream. But still the voice called...

  She sat up abruptly. There was a voice. She heard it clearly now. There were scraping noises, too, as if someone were crawling around. Carefully, trying not to wake Lotar, she stuck her head up through the hole and listened.

  ***************

  Borg stiffened. The old woman was muttering again. She had been muttering off and on all evening. He thought she was saying the same names he had heard the children speak. He shook his head in frustration. All day he had watched them, hoping Katalin was in the cave they dug at so hard, but in the end only another child had emerged.

  Three children and a half dead old woman. It seemed a pitiful group. Borg felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Perhaps he should take the old one closer, so the children could hear her. They must belong together, since the old woman had called their names. If he carried her and left her near the entrance to the cave, they would never know how she had got there.

  Quickly, before he could think further, he stooped down and picked up the old woman. Her eyes opened and she stared at him in confusion.

  Taggart!" she said in a terrified whisper.

  Borg paid no attention. He strode rapidly up the hill and lowered her to the ground by the hole the children had dug. Then he ran back to his hiding place.

  Jostled into awareness by the abrupt movements, Marita listened to his retreating footsteps. How was it possible that Taggart had carried her? He was dead!

  The question disappeared from her mind as she remembered something else, something far more important. She had heard voices, children's voices. One of them had been Balinor's. She could not have mistaken that voice.

  "Balinor," she said, in a low, quavering tone. "Balinor, are you there?"

  There was no answer. Marita called Balinor's name again and waited expectantly. Then she moaned in despair. Of course, the voices had not been real, just as Taggart had not been real. He was dead, so he could not have carried her. She had only dreamed him, dreamed that she had heard children. Balinor was not here; she was dead, and so was Lotar; all of them were dead, and she wished she were dead as well.

  Marita huddled against the earth, wanting only to return to the comforting darkness that had protected her before, to lie still once again and wait for the Mother to take her the rest of the way into death. But another voice came, interrupting her efforts.

  "Marita!" the voice said. "Marita, is it really you?"

  Marita groaned. It was not fair to have the voices keep coming. "Marita!" The voice persisted. "Marita, you are hurt!"

  The old woman turned her head towards the voice and saw a face, ghostly in the moonlight, sticking out of the earth. Gasping with fright, she cowered against the ground. It was Zena's face, but the rest of her was buried, as Taggart was buried. Taggart and Zena were dead, but Taggart had carried her and Zena was speaking, her head was speaking, as if she were alive -

  Zena leaped out of the cave. "Marita, it is me, Zena. Do not be afraid!" Alarmed by the terror on the old woman's face, she began to chafe her hands.

  "Lotar," she called. "Come quickly! Balinor too. It is Marita and she cannot move or speak."

  Indeed it was so. The shock of seeing Zena's disembodied face had pushed Marita back into unconsciousness. Lotar ran for water, while Zena kept on rubbing Marita's hands and arms. When the water came, she tried to dribble it into the old woman's mouth, but most of it landed on her face instead. The coldness seemed to revive her, and she opened her eyes.

  "You are dead," she moaned, as Zena bent anxiously above her. "Only your head is there. How is it possible...”

  Zena interrupted. "I am not dead at all," she objected. "And all of me is here. See?" She showed Marita her arms and legs, even her fingers and toes.

  Marita stared. Zena was moving, talking. Was it possible she was still alive?

  "Zena," she breathed. "Is it truly you? I thought you were buried beneath the rocks."

  "I was buried," Zena replied. "Lotar and Balinor got me out."

  "Lotar and Balinor... But they are dead. I know they are dead. Do not tease me, Zena. I cannot bear it." Tears welled up in Marita's eyes, and she closed them again.

  "I do not tease," Zena protested. "See, here they are!"

  Startled by the words, Marita looked up. Lotar was standing in front of her with a worried expression on his face. Balinor was beside him, rubbing sleepy eyes. She had just clambered out of the cave and did not yet know what all the excitement was about. Then she saw her grandmother.

  "Marita," she cried. "Marita, I knew you would come." She flung herself into her grandmother's arms. Her small warm body thumped against the old woman's chest.

  Marita clasped her tightly as tears rained down her face. This was not a dream. Balinor was real; she could feel her, smell her... And Lotar was real. He was standing as he always stood, with one foot propped on the other, beaming with happiness. He was alive; they were both alive...

  "Balinor! Oh, Balinor... And Lotar... My children; I have found you again... I have found you..." Emotion choked her and she could not go on. Stretching out her good arm, she pulled Lotar down beside her so she could feel him close to her as well. Wonderingly, she touched their faces, their slender necks and round bodies, and she buried her tear-streaked face in their hair.

  "The Mother has saved you, has brought me to you... That was why I lived, to come to you," she said brokenly. "And Zena lives; she lives... I was so afraid..."

  Zena felt answering tears prick behind her eyes but they did not emerge. Ever since her mother’s death they had refused to come out. Lotar, however, could not hold back the tears this time. The relief of seeing Marita again was too great.

  Balinor stared at him, bewildered. "You should not weep," she protested. "Marita has come back!"

  Marita hugged her even harder, but she kept on crying with joy, and a
fter a while Balinor joined in.

  Then, suddenly, they all began to talk at once. "But how did you escape, and how did you know to come here?" Marita asked. Lotar started to explain, but soon he, too, was asking questions. "What happened to the others? Were they all killed? Have you seen Katalin?"

  Balinor asked a more practical question, one she considered far more important. "Do you think Marita can fit in our cave? I am sleepy and I want her to lie beside me, for that is where she belongs."

  The others laughed. "We will make the hole bigger if we need to," Lotar assured her. But in the end, they were able to help Marita through the existing hole. Grimacing, she lowered herself onto the floor of the cave.

  "You are hurt," Zena said, watching the old woman's face tighten with pain.

  "There is a wound on my arm," Marita explained. "But I think it was my heart that was most wounded, when I thought you were all dead. Now that I know you are not, I will recover."

  "Still, I must look at it when the light comes again," Zena told her stubbornly. "I know something of healing. My mother tried to teach me all she knew before she ...." Her voice stopped abruptly.

  Marita drew her against her plump chest. "I am sorry, so very sorry," she crooned, stroking Zena's face gently.

  Zena did not answer, only lay dry-eyed in her arms. The child should weep, Marita thought anxiously. Except Zena was no longer a child, had never really been a child but had seemed already adult when she was born. That was the way with the ones called Zena.

  "In the morning, you can look for herbs for my arm," she said finally. "Now, we must just be glad that we are alive, and that we have found each other. That alone will be enough to keep me well until the light comes again."

  "I am very glad you found us," Lotar said. "It was lonely, with no one but ourselves."

  "How did you find us?" he added, frowning. "You were lying right there, by the hole we dug. How did you know the hole was there in the darkness?"

  Marita looked up at the sky above their heads. "I thought someone carried me," she answered slowly, “but now I know it was only a dream. Perhaps the Mother helped me to crawl, but I was too weak to remember."

  Deep inside, she knew her answer was not true. Someone had carried her, someone they did not know, a man who had hair like Taggart. She was certain of it, but she did not want to tell Zena or the two children lest she frighten them. Whoever he was, he had been kind. It was puzzling, though, that he had not made himself known. Was it possible he was one of the men with knives? But if that was so, why had he saved her?

  She sighed, too weary now to think further. Perhaps in the morning, she would find an answer.

  As soon as the light was strong enough to see, Zena went out to look for herbs for Marita's arm. Lotar brought water from the stream, and together they bathed the wound and made a poultice. They covered it with big leaves, freshly washed, then bound it with vines. There was no sign that the wound was festering.

  "I am weak because I was bleeding and was so worried," Marita assured them. "In a few days I will be all right."

  Her voice was cheerful but her thoughts were uneasy. Though she had not spoken of it, she had heard stealthy footsteps during the night. Was it the man who had carried her, or others, perhaps more of the men with knives? There was no way to tell, but to be safe, they should leave as soon as possible.

  "As soon as I am strong enough, we must leave," she told the others. "We must gather food for the trip and make some baskets. Then we will be ready."

  Zena sighed. She liked this place and did not want to leave it, at least for a while. But she, too, had heard the footsteps, and she knew Marita was right. Oddly, though, she had not been frightened by the sounds, only curious.

  Lotar was even more disappointed. "But then Katalin will not be able to find us," he said sadly. "She will come to this place and we will not be here."

  Marita looked at him with pity. He adored Katalin, was so sure she would come even though he knew she had probably perished in the earthquake. She must have perished, Marita thought with chagrin, or she would have found them by now. Still, there was no need to say this to Lotar and upset him further.

  "Katalin is good at tracking," she reassured him. "She will find us if anyone can."

  Lotar's face brightened. "I will leave a trail for her," he said, "a trail only she will understand." He said no more, but later Marita saw him collecting bright red berries.

  She handed him a basket she had made from the long grasses he and Zena had brought her from the stream. "Put the berries in here," she told him. "Balinor and I will make more baskets while you and Zena look for food to take with us."

  "Do not go too far," she admonished them. "Stay nearby, where I can see you."

  Marita positioned herself on the top of the hill beside Zena's shelter so she could watch them while they foraged. Soon, they disappeared into a grove of trees, but she could still hear them chattering to each other.

  The chattering stopped, very suddenly. Marita pulled herself to her feet. "Zena," she called. "Lotar, where are you?" There was no answer.

  "Balinor, come," Marita said. "We must find them, make sure they are all right."

  Balinor tucked her hand in Marita's anxiously, feeling her grandmother's fear.

  "They have not gone far," Marita comforted her. "They were here only a moment ago." But it took only a moment for a knife to kill, she thought to herself, and terror crept into her heart. She moved as quickly as she could towards the place where she had heard them, calling as she went. There was no response at all, no sound of any kind.

  Marita's terror grew, flooded her body so that she could hardly breathe. "Great Mother," she gasped, "do not take them from me when I have just found them..."

  "Zena! Lotar!" She called the names again and again. Balinor heard the desperation in her grandmother's voice and began to cry.

  A rustling sound in the bushes behind her made Marita turn. Surely, Zena and Lotar were not hiding! They would not play such a trick.

  It was not Zena and Lotar. A man stood looking at her, a man with thick blond hair that stood up all over his head.

  Marita gasped. "You! It was you who carried me!" The man seemed not to grasp the meaning of her words.

  "The children," she said desperately. "The children are gone." She pointed to Balinor, then spread her arms in a gesture of helplessness. It did not occur to her to wonder if this man had taken them. He had helped her, so he must be kind.

  Borg frowned, trying to understand. She had called the names of the children, and only one of them was here. Perhaps the other two were lost, or had wandered away.

  He pointed to Balinor; then looked questioningly at Marita as he made the shape of other children with his hands.

  "Yes. That is right," Marita said, nodding her head. “The other children are gone."

  "Look, Marita. Look!" It was Balinor's voice, shaky with weeping. She pointed to a bright red berry on the ground.

  "The red berries! Look, there are more. Lotar has left us a trail," Marita said excitedly. "We must follow it!"

  The big man nodded. "You stay. I go," he said firmly, pointing to the ground at her feet, then to himself. If he had an old woman and a weeping child to worry about, he thought irritably, he would never find the others.

  Anguish filled Marita's face at the thought of waiting, not knowing, but she realized he was right.

  "Go," she said to him. Coming close, she looked into his face. "The Mother thanks you and blesses you," she told him, and she held her soft cheek briefly against each of his.

  Borg backed away, startled. Then, to his surprise, he clasped her hand in his and pressed it warmly. There was something about this woman that moved his heart. He did not know what it was, but he did know it was hard to see her suffer.

  "I find them for you," he said gruffly, and she nodded, seeming to understand.

  He set off, following the berries. He was still not sure why he had showed himself to the old woman, except that she had s
eemed so frightened. As for the children, he was as anxious as she was to find them. They were his only link to Katalin.

  The trail of berries soon stopped, and Borg wondered if the child had really made a trail or had just dropped berries as he clambered down the hill. It was steep here. He went on, watching carefully for other signs, but then he stopped abruptly. He thought he heard a voice, but it was hard to tell. The stream was noisy here. The faint sound came again, and then he saw them, standing in the middle of the rushing water. They were leaning over, collecting something. He could see no one else. But why had they not answered? Of course; they could hear nothing over the noise of the stream.

  Borg's breath came out in a whoosh of relief. They were perfectly safe. Should he go back and tell the old woman? If he went too close, the children might be frightened. Quietly, he began to move away.

  He was too late. The girl looked up, as if feeling his eyes on her. She was older than he had thought from her small size, Borg saw, not quite a child but not yet a woman. She stood still and stared at him. There was no fear in her face.

  Noticing her stillness, Lotar followed her gaze. As soon as he saw Borg, he ran to stand in front of Zena, shielding her with his body. He had shielded his small sister in the same way, Borg remembered, when the earthquake had come. A boy that brave deserved respect.

  Holding out his arms in a placating gesture, Borg moved a little closer, so they could hear him. "I will not hurt you," he told them, forgetting for a moment they could not understand his words.

  Maybe if he said the old woman’s name they would be less frightened. Marita, the other child had called her.

  "Marita," he said. "I come from Marita."

  The pair looked at each other uncertainly. The boy was still very suspicious, Borg saw. That was not surprising, considering what he had been through.

  Perhaps if he said their names as well, the boy would know he meant no harm. "Zena," he said slowly, pointing to Lotar. "Lotar," he added, stumbling over the unfamiliar sounds, and pointed to Zena.