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

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  Nordal came closer, terrified, but mesmerized as well. He could not seem to take his eyes from the horse. This was his chance, his chance to help Torlan. If he could get on top of the horse, it would walk for him.

  The horse's head was down now, and it was trembling, he saw, trembling all over. His eyes shot up, to his mother. The horse was afraid of her. Nordal could see the panic in its eyes, the same panic he felt when his mother shouted at him or tried to strike him. The eyes were liquid with fear, but he saw something else, a kind of recognition, as if the horse knew him....

  He took a long, deep breath and held out his hand to stroke the horse's neck. He must soothe it, let it know it need not be afraid. The trembling slowed but began again when Veeta pulled impatiently at the rope. Nordal stroked the neck again, murmuring quietly to the horse. He did not know what he said, only that it needed the sound of his voice. When the trembling stopped again he held out his hand for the rope.

  "I will hold it now," he told his mother, never taking his eyes from the horse.

  Too surprised to object, Veeta handed him the rope without a word. She had expected Nordal to be frightened, unable even to approach the horse until she forced him. She was almost disappointed.

  The horse stamped and began to rear, then stopped as Nordal's voice steadied it. With one hand he held the rope, with the other he stroked the horse's neck, and all the while he looked into its eyes. The eyes stared back at him, without the fear now, but still with the recognition. Nordal felt as if the look went all the way to his belly and changed something there. He did not know what it was, but he knew he liked the feeling.

  He let out his breath and smiled. The horse would be his friend. Pulling gently at the rope, he began to walk across the meadow, away from the others. He wanted to be alone now, with just the horse. Obediently, it followed.

  Annoyed, Veeta shouted for him to come back. "You cannot just walk away," she yelled at him. "You must ride it now!"

  Nordal hardly heard her. All his thoughts were concentrated on the horse, on the sound of its hoofs, on the smell of it, the soft snorting noises it made as it breathed.

  Gorn, who had been watching, pulled Veeta roughly away. Could she never be kind to her child or even try to understand him? "Leave the child alone," said forcefully. "Nordal will learn to ride better if you are not there."

  Irritated at his interference, Veeta started to object but changed her mind. Gorn could be right. Nordal might learn to ride the horse faster by himself, and that was what she needed if he was to accompany her. She was aware of his friendship with Torlan, and if Nordal was with her Torlan could be more easily approached. There would be no suspicion. She could look for Borg, for Tron as well, and revenge herself on them, and then she could carry out the plan she had envisioned for so long.

  Her lips twisted into a smile. Not even Vetron had known the details of her plan. No one knew, and no one would know until she was ready.

  She stayed away from the horses in the days that followed, and Nordal was relieved. To be alone with the horse was all he wanted. He came early each morning and stayed until dusk, talking to the horse, leading it, sometimes just leaning against its warm flanks. It was a mare, he saw, and was glad. Stallions could be wild. Soon the mare became so accustomed to him that she followed even when he did not lead her with the rope, and she nickered eagerly whenever he came close. She had her own enclosure now, for Gorn had ordered the men to construct a smaller one, where Nordal could learn to ride without the distraction of the other horses.

  He would call her Alare, the word for wind rushing through the trees, Nordal decided, for he was certain that one day the mare would run like the wind with him on her back.

  The next task was to figure out how he was going to get on top of her back. Alare was very tall and he was not. Gorn helped him by setting a thick branch, supported by two others to hold it up high, at one edge of the enclosure. Nordal let Alare get accustomed to the branch, then, very slowly, he climbed up on it and rubbed her back. She shivered, but did not run. For two more days he did this, and then he pulled himself slowly onto her back. This time she did rear, and threw him onto the ground.

  Nordal got up again, groggy from the fall. Immediately, the mare came and nuzzled him. Nordal tried again; three more times, he tried. The last time Alare did not rear. She only stood there, shaking a little, while Nordal settled himself on her back. He stroked her and soothed her with his voice, and urged her forward with his knees. She walked slowly ahead; together, they circled the enclosure.

  When he slid off again, Nordal was shaking, with effort and with excitement. He could go anywhere now, anywhere he wanted. His leg did not matter any more, for he had Alare.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lilan etched in the last line of her drawing with a sharp flint. The reindeer's shape was not perfect, but it was better than the last one she had made. There were no caves here like the ones she and her brother Conar had painted in together, so she put her drawings on their tools and utensils, even the stones with which they lined the entrances to the huts. It was a good way to honor the Mother's creatures, she thought, for the graceful animals could be seen constantly as the members of the tribe went about their daily tasks.

  Anguish filled her suddenly, that Conar was not here. He had always been closer to her heart than any other, and she missed him terribly. Would she ever see him again? People from other tribes, traveling south in search of new homes, had told her that the men with knives had attacked the big caves where they had once lived and had killed many people. Fear rippled up Lilan's spine, lest they had killed Conar, even Zena.

  The thought was terrible to contemplate, but not knowing was even worse. If only Katalin would return to tell them what had happened! Always eager for adventure, Katalin had gone to tell Zena where they were, and to urge her to come to them. Since that time, they had heard nothing except for the stories of attacks - not just on them, but on almost all the Mother People tribes.

  Lilan shuddered. If the cold continued to worsen and the ice grew thicker, the men with knives could even come here. Only when Zena came could they move on and find the new home the Mother had promised them, where they would finally be safe.

  Gunor appeared, interrupting her thoughts. Pulot was close behind him. Their sturdy forms, so much alike, were comforting. The responsibility of acting as wise one for the tribe until Zena's return, as Zena had asked her to do, weighed heavily on Lilan's shoulders, and she was glad that Pulot and Gunor were always there to help.

  "Katli worries because Katalin has not yet returned," Pulot remarked, as if she had known Lilan's thoughts. Her normally cheerful voice was gloomy.

  Gunor looked downcast, too. "Katalin should have come before this," he said in his nasal voice. "She may need help. Perhaps it is time now for some of us to look for her."

  Lilan nodded. "I have thought of this, and I, too, believe we must look. Now that summer has come, travel will not be difficult."

  Pulot's face brightened. "That will be good," she replied. "I will find Katli and tell her."

  "First, let us discuss the idea at the council tonight," Lilan demurred. She wanted to see what everyone thought before making such a decision.

  When darkness came, the tribe gathered in the circle of stones they had built when they first came here. Most of them had come with Lilan from their old home, others had joined the group more recently. Many Mother People tribes passed through the area now, because so many were fleeing the cold and the violence, and the young men especially often wished to join a different group.

  Lilan looked at each face, trying to understand their thoughts, as Zena had always seemed to do with such ease. Rofal looked angry, she thought, but then his face was often set in hard lines. What was surprising was that his angry face was directed at Sarila. Usually, he looked at her with adoration. Sarila seemed worried, almost frightened, and that, too, was strange. Her face was usually serene. Lilan tried to think what might have happened between Rofal and Saril
a, but no perceptions came to her.

  She was better at painting animals than at wisdom, Lilan thought regretfully. She always listened dutifully for the Mother's voice, but what came into her mind was usually another drawing. Sighing at her ineptitude, she turned to the matter of Katalin.

  "Gunor has suggested that some of us go to look for Katalin," she told her listeners. "I think he is right, but I would like to hear from others. Perhaps those who agree, or who wish to go or to stay here, should speak. Then we can decide."

  "I wish to go," Katli announced in her firm voice. Since she was Katalin's mother, no one was surprised. The bond between them was close.

  "I wish to stay here, for the new one comes soon," Sarila said, patting her swollen belly.

  "I will stay with Sarila," Rofal said immediately. He rose and went to sit beside her. Now, his look was protective again, Lilan saw, and she was relieved.

  "I will go," Pulot said eagerly, her face alight at the thought of the challenge ahead. There was another reason she wished to go. Her two oldest children, Taggart and Lipa, had stayed in their old home to guard the young Zena, and she wanted very much to see them again.

  Gunor looked wistful. He was old now, and although he was still strong, he could not easily walk long distances.

  "I would like to go," he told them, "but I do not walk very well, so I will stay here with Lilan. Perhaps Bukkor could go instead, to help Pulot and Katli." Bukkor was the son of one of his mates, and like himself was prodigiously strong.

  Bukkor nodded eagerly. "I wish to see Katalin again," he said. He had always liked Katalin, and now that he was old enough to mate, he was anxious to find her again.

  So it was settled. The small group set off the next morning, carrying a few tools, their water bags, and little else. In summer they did not need much. They gathered food as they walked, and took an animal or two when necessary. As she always had, Katli made sure each creature died as painlessly as possible, and blessed them in the Mother's name before she partook of their flesh. She loved the animals she hunted and they seemed to know this, for they came easily to her spear. Bukkor, who had only recently begun to hunt with Katli and Gunor, was impressed, not just with her skill, but with her vast store of knowledge about animals.

  For almost two cycles of the moon, the three traveled without incident, heading north and a little west toward the mountains through land strewn with rocky ledges and low trees that clung to their sides. Then, unexpectedly, they came to a wide river.

  "There was no river in this place when we came here before," Pulot said indignantly. "It was in a different place, and it was not so wide."

  "Perhaps the storms after the winter made it change its course," Katli conjectured.

  "We will travel along the banks until we find a place to cross." Pulot spoke determinedly, but she was not sure it was possible. The river was deep and very wide.

  They went east for three days, without success. On the fourth day, Bukkor elected to stay behind while Pulot and Katli continued the exploration for another day.

  "We need food," he announced, pulling out his harpoon, "and this is a good place for fishing." Bukkor loved catching fish and was one of the best at spearing the fast-moving creatures.

  Katli and Pulot left him there to fish and set off along the bank. To their disappointment, the river became even bigger as they traveled, and everywhere it was too fast to cross. Weary and discouraged, they retraced their steps after a few hours.

  When they reached the place where they had left Bukkor, he ran to them in excitement. "I have seen people on the other side! A man and a child, I think, but they are in the trees and I cannot see them clearly."

  Pulot and Katli stared across the river. As if drawn by their gaze, two people wandered slowly toward the far bank.

  Pulot's hand went to her throat when she saw them. "It is the young Zena! I am almost sure of it. And the other one looks like Taggart." She ran to the edge of the river and waved frantically. "Zena!" she called, "Taggart! It is Pulot! Can you hear me?"

  The smaller figure whirled at the sound of her voice, but the man only looked confused. Pulot's heart dropped when he turned toward her. He was not Taggart. The hair was the same, and the build, but not the face. Uneasiness gnawed suddenly at her belly. She was almost sure the small one was Zena, but what was she doing with a strange man? Was it possible he was one of the men with knives, that he had stolen her? And why was Taggart not with her?

  Her certainty that this was Zena was confirmed when Zena ran closer, calling to her. "Pulot, Pulot, how have you come here? Oh, Pulot, I am so happy to see you!"

  Pulot called back excitedly, but fear still gripped her heart. Where was Zena, the child's mother? Why was she not there?

  Two other children appeared, children who looked familiar, though Pulot did not think they came from Zena's tribe. Intent on watching them, she did not notice that more people had emerged from the trees. But Katli saw and was instantly beside her.

  "Katalin," she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Katalin, I am here!"

  Katalin stood perfectly still, unable to reply. Her throat had tightened intolerably, and she could not force out a word. She felt as she had long ago, when she was a small child and had become lost in the woods, and suddenly, unexpectedly, her mother had appeared.

  "Katli," she croaked finally. "Oh, Katli, I am so glad to see you." She pressed her fists against her eyes, trying not to weep. She wanted to see her mother's face, not a film of tears! And she could not let the others see her crying again.

  Impetuously, she ran down to the river and waded into the water, calling her mother's name. Katli and Pulot watched in horror as she took one step, then another, into the current. A man they did not recognize grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  "Do not go into the river," Katli screamed frantically. "We will find a place to cross."

  "There is no place," Katalin called back despairingly. "We have looked!" Against her will, tears began to form again. To finally find her mother and be unable to reach her was not fair! Savagely, she swiped the tears away.

  Marita came up and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. From the other bank, Pulot stared in astonishment.

  "Marita," she cried. "Marita, is it truly you?" She could not believe her eyes! She had never expected to see Marita here. How had she come to this place?

  Marita looked startled, then her mouth widened into an enormous smile. "Pulot!," she cried. "Pulot, I have wanted so badly to see you again, and now we have found you!" She waved both arms in the air with joy. Sensing her excitement, Balinor and Lotar began to jump and shout, and then everyone was calling, waving, leaping up and down in glee. Borg watched in amazement. Never had he known a group of people to be so happy to see each other.

  Pulot, ever practical, was the first to recover. To see the young Zena and Katalin and the others was wonderful, but now they must find a place to cross! Somewhere there must be a place, if they only looked hard enough.

  "We have looked for a crossing to the east," she called out. "Now we must go the other way."

  On the far side of the river, Katalin took charge, glad to have a task to distract her from her emotions. "We will go as they do," she told the others. "We will travel faster, though, if only some of us go."

  "We will go west for two days and then return to this place," she shouted across the river.

  "We will do the same," Katli called back.

  All that afternoon and the next day, the two groups scoured the banks to the west, but everywhere the river was too wide and fast. When they had returned to the place where they had met, they looked mournfully at each other across the water's expanse.

  "We must all go one way or the other and walk until we find a place." Katalin tried to sound hopeful and did not succeed.

  "I will try to walk across," Torlan volunteered. "I think the river is not as deep here as in other places we have seen. If I can get across, I can return and help the others."

  "I, too, w
ill try," Borg countered, not wishing to be outdone by Torlan.

  "The tallest one must go," Marita suggested, "to keep his head above water." The two men stood back to back, and although Torlan was younger, he was also taller.

  Removing the leather garment that hung from his shoulders, Torlan waded into the water. None of them had seen him without the garment before, and they gasped. On his chest was a mark that looked like the outstretched wings of a butterfly. The vivid patch of white skin showed starkly against his bronze chest.

  Torlan heard the gasps and looked embarrassed. He did not like showing the strange mark. "That is why the men did not kill me when they took my mother," he said. "They saw the mark. It was there when I was born."

  Abruptly, Zena rose and came to him. She traced the mark gently with her fingers. "This I have dreamed of," she told him. "Many times I have seen the mark, but never have I seen the one who bore it. There is meaning in this mark."

  He nodded. "I have felt that," he confessed, "but I have not known what the meaning might be."

  "One day, we will know," Zena replied. "The Mother will tell us." She turned to the others. "We must not risk him to the river," she said firmly. Her voice held an assurance far beyond her years, and they looked at her with respect.

  Zena had changed since she had found the wolf and her Kyrie, Marita thought. There was a power in her that had not been there before, as if already she had attained the wisdom and status that usually came only after many years. Marita was glad. Before, Zena had seemed so lost and alone.

  "I will go instead," Borg offered, anxious to impress Katalin. Without waiting for an answer, he strode into the water. It rose to his chest, his throat, then he lost his footing and the river took him. Gasping and flailing, he tried to right himself as the current bore him downstream. Fortunately, it swept him toward the bank as well, and Torlan was able to wade into the water and grab one of his arms, then the other. The two men emerged, coughing and shaking water energetically from their chilled bodies.