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

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  "It is in this way we keep peace in the tribe," Zena had explained. "We must celebrate Akat often, as the Mother intended, and if all the men are equally chosen by the women, they do not fight among themselves but instead are friends."

  Zena was right; that Katalin did not doubt, but she still did not know what to do about Borg. She eyed him surreptitiously when he finally returned. To her surprise, he looked sad even more than angry, and she began to feel almost sorry for the harshness of her words. Borg was not like the other men with knives, as Marita had said. To take him as one of her mates might not be so bad, after all. But he must not know that, she decided firmly, not yet. First, he had to learn to abide by the rules of Akat. Then, she would make a decision.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Marita had listened to the argument between Katalin and Borg with dismay. She cared very much for both of them, but they could not seem to understand each other.

  "They are both too stubborn," she muttered to herself.

  To her surprise, Zena answered. "Katalin likes Borg and does not wish to," she observed, "and Borg does not understand our ways. It will be difficult, I think."

  How wise Zena was already, Marita thought, and for a moment she was afraid without knowing why. Then she brightened.

  "You are right!" she exclaimed. "If I explain this to Borg, surely he will find it easier to wait until Katalin is ready to accept him."

  When Borg rose to get wood for the fire, she jumped up to follow him. "Katalin is angry partly because she likes you and does not want to," she told the dejected man. "If you are kind to her and wait patiently, she will one day choose you, I think."

  "I wish to do the choosing. Men should choose."

  "That way leads to violence," Marita explained. "When men choose, always there is fighting, as each man tries to keep a woman for himself. This you will learn."

  Borg shook his shaggy head in bewilderment. "I do not see why men choosing should bring violence," he answered. "I think there will be fighting if women choose. For a woman to tell a man what to do seems wrong to me."

  "A woman does not tell a man what to do, but only tells him what she wishes to do," Marita explained patiently. "Then both can agree if they wish."

  Borg looked dubious, but some of the anger drained out of his face. And later that evening, Marita noticed, Katalin went to sit beside him, as if trying to make amends.

  "See how they sit together," she whispered to Zena. "One day I am sure they will be friends."

  Zena did not answer. Her eyes closed and a look of intense pain suddenly distorted her features. She saw pictures, of Borg's angry face, and Katalin's, and then she saw blood on the ground and Borg striding away.

  Shuddering, she forced her eyes open again, struggled to see the fire, the people around her, but the images did not fade. There was shouting, and someone lay bloody and motionless on the ground, someone whose face would not come clear.

  Marita saw her distress and pulled her close. "There now," she comforted. "It will be all right. I am certain of it."

  Zena was not so sure. A vast feeling of uneasiness came over her, and she knew it would not leave her until she understood the meaning of the picture she had seen.

  "I know what I should do!" Marita exclaimed. "I will tell Borg the story of the forbidden knowledge, and then, surely, he will see why women must choose."

  Borg had risen to tend the fire, and when he had finished she drew him down beside her. "Sit here with me and I will tell the story of the forbidden knowledge, which explains why the Mother gave Akat to the women," she urged. "That may help you to understand."

  Borg looked at her kindly face and nodded. "I will listen," he said, "but I am not sure I will ever understand your ways." He did not look at Katalin again, but instead sat close to Marita as she told the story.

  "It was not so long ago," Marita began, "that the knowledge that men as well as women contributed to new life was forbidden. Only the wise ones knew, and they were sworn to secrecy, for the Mother saw that some men might abuse the knowledge, might try to keep a woman for themselves so that no other man could start a child within her. But the time came when the knowledge could no longer be hidden, for many had begun to understand. The Mother told the wise ones they could speak, and She gave us the rules of mating, of Akat, that we follow today. Always, She ordained, Akat must belong to the women, for if men ruled Akat, they would fight over women, would come to believe that they owned them and the young they bore. From this owning would come the belief that they could own the Mother's land and all that lived or grew upon it, and so they would fight to possess all that they could. Then, She warned, they could wound Her web of life beyond repair, and the world of the Goddess would be destroyed."

  Marita paused, gathering her thoughts. Her listeners waited, their eyes intent on her face. "For all the years until the men with knives came," she continued softly, and a terrible sadness crept into her voice, "we have lived in harmony with each other and with the earth that sustains us. The wise ones taught the Mother's ways, the ways of love and compassion, and respect for all that lives, so the knowledge would never be lost. We who worship the Goddess must help to protect Her world from those who would destroy it, She told us, but it is hard to know what we should do...."

  "And they are destroying it!" Katalin interrupted, unable to contain her anger. "The men with knives, men like Borg, are destroying all that is precious to the Mother. They kill animals whether they need them or not, just for sport. They have forced us from our home, killed all in our tribe but ourselves and desecrated our sacred places...."

  Borg jumped to his feet before she could finish. For Katalin to say he was like the men with knives was wrong! "I am not one of them,” he said fiercely. “The men with knives come from the far north, where I have never been. It is true that I lived among them for a time, though now I wish I had not, but I would not act as they do, nor would any of my tribe. We kill only the animals we need, and we do not kill others unless we must, if they try to take our meat or our women, or force us from our home. But we would never kill women and little ones, or those with no weapons."

  "To kill at all is wrong," Zena reminded him quietly. "This my mother told me. From the very beginning, children must be taught that it is wrong to kill, for a home, for food, for a woman. When children are not taught this these things, violence will come."

  Borg frowned, sorry now that he had spoken. He felt pity for Zena because she had lost her mother, but to be told what was right or wrong by one so young was even worse than being told what to do by Katalin. In his tribe, such a girl would be slapped.

  "How, then, can we keep our tribes from harm if we can never kill?" he retorted angrily. "If others wish to take our food or our women, we must be able to kill them!"

  Zena regarded him thoughtfully. "It is not me but the Mother who tells us this," she answered.

  She seemed to know what was in his mind even when he did not tell her, Borg thought. His irritation increased. "It is not possible never to be violent," he repeated, stirring the fire with angry energy. "When you are older, you will know this."

  Marita tried to soothe him. "Perhaps what the Mother means is that we should not wish to kill," she explained. "You are not like the men with knives, who kill without thought, but like the Big People I told you about who lived in the cliffs near the caves. They too are kind. We know this is true, because Gunor saved Zena’s mother just as you saved me." She looked pointedly at Katalin, to make sure she grasped this distinction.

  "Many people from Gunor’s tribe went with our own tribe members when they left to explore the south, so perhaps you will meet some of these people when we find the others," she added, a smile creasing her round face at the thought. “Gunor himself may still be alive, though he is old now."

  "Perhaps we will find Rofal, too," Zena said wistfully. ‘I would like to see him again.” Rofal was her older brother, born many years before her, and even though he had often tormented her when they were children she
loved him dearly. He had left with the others in the tribe, too, and she had not seen him since.

  "I am sure we will," Marita agreed stoutly, though she wondered privately if that was a good idea. Rofal had always been difficult. Violence had been born into him, for his life had begun when a man called Tron had taken Zena's mother by force. Tron had been a terrible man, incapable of kindness. He had wandered in the north for many years, she had heard, and everywhere he went he violated women. And then he had returned and violated a girl called Sarila. Rofal, who loved Sarila more than any other, had found Tron and had killed him, not knowing that Tron was his father.

  Marita shook herself. To think of Tron again was foolish. He had been dead for many years, and he could not hurt them any more. And after that one terrible act, the violence had seemed to drain out of Rofal. Besides, it would be good for Zena to see her brother again. To be with him might make her happier.

  Katalin stiffened at the mention of Rofal’s name. A sudden and unwelcome thought had occurred to her. Rofal had been born after Tron had forced himself on Zena. Borg had forced himself on her many times. What if he had started a new life within her? It had been exactly at the time when she was most fertile, between one moon and the next, that he had taken her. She remembered that because when the men with knives had come she had been about to go to the Ekali, the women’s place where men could not come. All the women went there at their most fertile time if they wanted to prevent a new life from forming, perhaps because they were too young to bear a child or had just born another, or because they just did not feel ready for a child.

  Katalin stood abruptly and strode into the woods, trying to still the anxious thoughts that crowded into her mind. Had a child started within her? If it had, she vowed, she would find the herbs. The other women sometimes spoke of them. They only used them if for some reason they were forced to return a new life to the Mother, but they knew how it was done. But would she ever find the rest of the tribe so she could ask?

  Her mind flew off on another tangent. Already, a full cycle of the moon had passed since her escape, and they had not come to the river, which was the landmark she needed to be certain they were going in the right direction. They should have reached it by now. Could she be leading them the wrong way? If she was, they might never see their tribe mates again, and that meant she might never see her mother again… How she wished she could talk to her mother! She would know what to do…

  But maybe, after all, there was no child and everything would be all right. She could not seem to remember if her bleeding had come in this cycle. Surely, though, it had been a long time? If there was a child, what would she do? And where was the river? Around and around the thoughts went, and she could not make them stop. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to shut them out, but they kept on tormenting her. Suddenly overwhelmed, she sat down on the ground and burst into tears.

  Torlan appeared, looking anxious. Embarrassed that he had seen her weeping, Katalin screamed at him to go away. Torlan went to fetch Marita, to see if she could help. Katalin cried still harder, furious at herself because she had screamed at Torlan, who was her friend, but even more furious because she was crying. She had not wept since she was a child and she should not be weeping now. That was weak!

  Finally, Marita came. She said not a word, only took Katalin into her arms and let her weep until exhaustion claimed her. Then she led her gently back to the fire and settled her beside it, signaling to the others not to speak.

  Darkness had come, and they all lay down to sleep, except for Borg, who stayed awake to guard the others. They had agreed that one of the adults would always watch while the others slept, and his was the first turn. He was glad. Katalin had given him much to think of. Though she had not been aware of his presence, he had followed her when she went by herself into the woods. He felt responsible for the safety of the others, and always followed when one of them went off alone. Sensing that she would not want him to see her, he had not approached Katalin, but he had watched her with growing fascination. That there was weakness in her was profoundly reassuring. She was, after all, a woman, a woman who could weep, who was not always as tough or assured as she pretended to be.

  Borg heaved a sigh of relief. Now he was sure he would be able to tame her eventually, enough to make her his mate. That was good to know. Smiling, he cast his eyes around the group, to make sure all was well, and thought pleasurably of the day when Katalin would be his.

  The next day Katalin seemed more like herself and strode off energetically, though her face was still grim. Lotar tried hard to cheer her up. "I am sure we will find the river soon," he assured her, trying to match her long stride with his shorter legs. "You are better than anyone I know at finding your way."

  "I am not so sure," Katalin answered glumly. "We should have come to it before now. I am afraid we may have passed it."

  "I do not think that is possible," Lotar objected. "To pass a river without seeing it does not make sense."

  "The storms after the winter could have made it change its course," Torlan commented. Each year, melting snows poured down from the mountains, and when there were severe rainstorms as well, rivers sometimes grew so swollen that they formed new channels.

  "That is possible," Katalin answered. "Perhaps it would be best if some of us looked in different directions - "

  Her words were interrupted by Borg, who had gone ahead to be sure the way was safe and had come running back. "I have seen water," he announced. "Much water."

  Katalin sprinted in the direction he was pointing and let out a whoop of joy. "The river," she shouted excitedly. "It is the river! We have found it!"

  Her excitement dissolved as she came closer. "It has changed," she moaned. "The river is much bigger and deeper than it was. How will we get across?"

  The others came up behind her and stared at the river. It was indeed deep, and very wide. The water did not churn, but it did flow rapidly, as if the currents were strong.

  Katalin sat down abruptly. "When we crossed before there were many sandbars, and we could leap from one to the other."

  "Then we must look for the sandbars, or at least for a place where the river is less wide," Torlan said determinedly. "Some can go one way, others another, and then we will all meet here again before the dark comes."

  The others nodded. One group headed upstream, the other went downstream, but when they returned many hours later, no one had found a place to cross. The next day and for two more days, they repeated the procedure, but they still found nothing.

  "We must wait until the river goes down," Marita said finally, expressing the fear that was in all their hearts.

  No one answered, but they knew she was right. Little rain came at the end of summer, and after a few cycles of the moon had passed the river was bound to become more shallow. Then they could try again.

  For a long time they sat without speaking, trying to absorb their disappointment. Then, one at a time, they rose to attend to various chores. They needed wood for the fire, food to sustain them. And if they had to stay here until the river dropped, they must build a sturdy shelter.

  Zena’s uneasiness grew as she saw the dejection in their faces and their slumped shoulders. No one wanted to stay here; they wanted only to keep looking for the others. Even more, staying here felt wrong. Safety lay on the other side of the river they could not cross, or perhaps it was not safety but something more, some kind of peace perhaps. Here, there was only menace, not in the form of men with knives or dangerous animals, just a formless menace she could not name, though she thought she had seen its face in one of her dreams.

  Her mind went back to Katalin’s fit of weeping. Katalin did not succumb to moods like that. Something very unusual must have happened to make her cry so uncontrollably. If she knew what that was, Zena thought, she might understand more.

  That evening while the others sat around the fire, she went off by herself so she could speak to the Goddess without being overheard. Over and over, she ask
ed her questions about Katalin, about the meaning of the terrible image she had seen of someone lying bloody and still on the ground, about why she felt so uneasy. No answer came, and for the first time, Zena felt impatience. There was a sense of urgency in her, as if all of them would suffer if she did not find out soon what was wrong and what the Mother wished her to do. She was the next Zena, and it was her job to help the tribe in times of trouble. The next evening and the next, and many times after that, she repeated her questions, but still there was no response. All she got were endless dreams of a face she did not know and that seemed to have no meaning.

  Why did the Mother not speak to her? Had she somehow displeased Her? Was that the reason for Her silence?

  Zena's fists curled into tight balls as she considered this possibility, and she walked still further away from the others so they would not see her distress. Her eyes were focused inward, and she did not realize she had crossed the meadow that bordered the river until her feet bumped against the rocky slope that rose beyond it. She looked up then, at the steep hill, at the cliffs above. They were craggy, inaccessible, and she dropped her eyes quickly. High places had terrified her since her mother's death. Whenever she tried to climb up on rocks, dizziness overcame her, and a terrible sadness. Discouraged, she turned away from the cliffs and started back across the meadow.

  Understanding came so suddenly that her body froze in mid-step. A Kyrie - she needed a Kyrie. That was why the Goddess had not spoken to her. Only in a Kyrie could She provide answers to questions like the ones Zena was asking, questions too big, too serious, for any other place.

  Relief flooded her. She had not displeased the Mother; all she needed was a Kyrie. After the relief came renewed fear. Always, the Goddess had told them, a Kyrie must be in a high place, so that if the visions sent to the wise one were harsh, they would fly upward into the clouds and not infect the earth below.