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

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  "It gets us clean," Torlan remarked, "but that is all." Borg glowered, embarrassed at having to be rescued, but the others greeted the remark with relieved laughter.

  "We will have to think of another idea," Zena said when the merriment had subsided. "The Mother has helped us to find each other, so She surely means us to get across the river. There is a way, and we must think of it."

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated fiercely. She had been to her Kyrie many times now, and each time she had felt her confidence grow stronger as the dreams and visions poured into her. In fact, there had been so many it was hard to remember them all. Still, she had a vague memory of one that involved the river.

  The others sat nearby, considering the problem. Bored by the inactivity, Balinor went to the edge of the water to play. One at a time, she put some pieces of bark she had found into the river and watched them float away. She had played this game in the stream many times, and it always amused her. Marita came to sit beside her, fearful lest the child fall into the water.

  "Make me some people, Marita," Balinor begged, "to put on the bark pieces." Obligingly, Marita got to work. She had often made small people for Balinor's games, and her fingers were dexterous. First, she bundled grasses into round shapes that resembled heads and bodies, then she bound them with vines and affixed twigs for arms and legs. When the first figure was ready, Balinor sent it down the river on one of her bark pieces. The bark tipped, and the little figure disappeared beneath the water. Balinor gave a cry of disappointment.

  Lotar came to help. "We will make the pieces bigger, so the people do not fall off," he comforted Balinor. He ran into the woods and came back with a short, thick branch. Placing two of the figures carefully on top, he pushed it into the river. The branch bobbed up and down in the current, but the people did not fall.

  Lotar grinned, but then looked perplexed as a new idea occurred to him. "If the branch stays on top of the water, why do we not stay on top?"

  Intrigued by the game, the others had come to watch. Everyone considered Lotar's question, but no one had an answer.

  "I do not know," Torlan replied finally, "but perhaps we would float if we were on the branch, as the small people do."

  Zena’s eyes opened wide in sudden comprehension. "That is what the Mother meant!" she exclaimed. "I dreamed of trees in the river, but I thought the trees were wrong, because why should trees be in a river? But maybe it is possible." Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to bring back the picture.

  "Perhaps we could hold on to a big branch, one at a time," Lotar suggested.

  "Each adult could take a child," Torlan added, "to make sure they did not fall off."

  Borg was skeptical. "How then do we get out on the other side?" he asked. "The river will carry us away." Despite its sluggish movements, the strength of the current had impressed him, and he was not anxious to be caught in it again.

  "That is a good point," Torlan agreed.

  "We can have the ones on the other side grab the branch when it comes close to the bank," Katalin suggested. A frown creased her forehead. "But what if it does not come close?"

  Zena's eyes opened again. "This is what we do," she began, glad that for once the picture that had come to her was useful. Visions of mists and tall stones were marvelous to see, and she was grateful to the Mother for giving them to her, but they did not provide immediate help, as this one did.

  "The trees can help us to cross if we take many branches and bind them together with vines," she explained, "so they are stronger and will hold all of us."

  "But we still do not know where we will go," Marita pointed out. "And we might never be able to get out."

  "Marita is right," Borg agreed. "I do not see how we can make the branches take us to the other side."

  Torlan's eyes lingered on a vine floating in the water. "That is true," he mused, "unless... unless those on the other side could pull us, with vines..."

  "We can throw it to them," Katalin interrupted excitedly. "If we make the vine strong by winding many together, and then send it to them, they can pull - "

  Her face fell. No one could throw a vine that far. Borg, however, did not agree. "I can make it go there," he told them. "In my tribe, we used launchers to throw a long way. I do not have one now, but I could try to make one."

  The others looked at him respectfully. "Then let us try," Torlan said finally. "We need large branches and many vines, for the rope and to bind the branches together."

  "We have thought of a way," Katalin screamed across the river. "We will bind branches together to take us across!"

  Pulot looked dubious, and Katli was not at all sure such a scheme would work. Katalin, however, was full of excitement, and ran off to begin the search for suitable branches. Lotar and Torlan helped her, and Borg got to work trimming the branches with the axe he always carried. From across the bank, Bukkor watched with admiration as Borg swung the axe back and forth without ever missing his target. He would make one like that for himself as soon as possible, he decided, and practice his swing. Never had he seen an axe used with such skill.

  Zena and Marita found vines and began the process of braiding them, while Balinor tried to help. Pulot and Katli watched in helpless frustration, unable to contribute to the effort.

  Late the next day, Marita held up sturdy rope made of many pieces of vine spliced and braided together. Borg examined it and declared he did not need a launcher. Instead, he tied a rock to one end of the rope, swung it behind him in a circle and propelled it in a great arc across the river. The first time, the rock splashed in the water, but the second attempt sent it thudding into the ground on the other bank. Bukkor grabbed it, cheering.

  Pulot examined it carefully. "Let us make a rope, too," she suggested, weary of feeling useless. "Then we will have one if the first breaks."

  "And I can practice throwing it," Bukkor added. Borg's skill and throwing had impressed him as much as his skill at chopping.

  On the other bank, the makeshift craft Zena had envisioned gradually took shape. Two branches, then three and four and five were bound together with sturdy vines. When they thought there were enough branches to hold them, they pushed the contrivance into the river to make sure it would float. It bobbed easily on the water, but when they all clambered on top, it tipped precariously.

  "We are too many," Torlan said. "Let us send some first, then pull it back again."

  It was decided that Borg would take Marita and Balinor, then throw the rope to the others so they could pull the raft back and then cross themselves.

  "How can they pull us to the other side," Lotar wanted to know, "if we have the rope?"

  That posed a dilemma until Pulot realized what the delay was about. "We have one, too," she crowed triumphantly. "Here, see how thick and strong it is?"

  "Now we have one for both ends," Katalin said, glad to have the matter resolved. She was very eager to get to her mother.

  The raft tipped to one side when the first group got on, but the other side stayed well above the water. The three on the far bank pulled hard, and in a surprisingly short time, the passengers were safely across. Cheers rose into the air, died quickly away. The job was not yet finished. Borg threw one rope back while Katli tied the second one securely to the other end of the raft. Torlan and Katalin hauled it back, then clambered aboard with Lotar and Zena. With Borg to pull as well as the others, the raft went so fast it almost tipped.

  "Not so fast," Katalin yelled, hanging on to Zena and Lotar with all her strength. The pulling slowed and the raft bobbed gently until it came to the other side. For a moment, the two groups stared at each other, unable to believe they had truly managed such a crossing. Then tears and cries of joy erupted. Katalin clung to her mother ecstatically. She finally broke away to hug Pulot and Bukkor, who wrapped her joyously in his arms, to Borg's discomfiture, and everyone else hugged whoever was nearest.

  "But where are Taggart and Lipa?" Pulot asked suddenly, "What has happened to all the others? And Zena... D
id she not come?"

  The joy vanished as abruptly as it had come. Pulot saw Katalin's downcast eyes, Marita's anguished face, and tears spilled down her broad cheeks. "We heard of the attacks," she said brokenly, "but we had hoped..."

  "An earthquake killed Taggart and Lipa," Marita told her sadly. "Only the young Zena escaped, but she was buried until Lotar and Balinor dug her out. And then Borg carried me to them..."

  She stopped to comfort Pulot, and Katalin took up the tale. "The men with knives killed all the others," she said bitterly, "except for young women like myself. We were taken."

  "But how did you escape?" Katli was confused. If Katalin had been taken, and Taggart and Lipa were dead, how had she and the young Zena and the others come here?"

  "Torlan helped me to escape," Katalin explained, "and then we went to look for Zena, for I had sent Lotar and Balinor there, but then Borg came to look for me..."

  Katli held up an admonishing hand. "Each of you must tell what happened to you from the beginning," she said firmly, "so we can understand."

  They nodded. Lotar went first, then Zena told her story, Marita hers, and Katalin finished by relating their adventures since they had met.

  No one spoke for a long moment. "I am glad that all of you have escaped," Pulot said finally, "but when I think of the ones who died, of our home, of the cruelty..." Unable to go on, she buried her face in her hands. Even Katli, usually so reserved, looked ashen as she thought of what had happened.

  Rage rose again in Katalin as she looked at their stricken faces. "The men with knives destroyed everything," she said passionately. "Why, why, must they behave as they do? I do not think men who are so brutal deserve to live!"

  "It is as if a sickness comes into them, my mother said," Zena answered, her eyes tragic with the knowledge. "Then, even men who were not cruel before, who might have cared for a woman or comforted a crying child, can suddenly kill them instead."

  Pulot raised her head. "Even Zena," she said brokenly. "They have even killed Zena. Truly, they know no mercy."

  She pulled the young Zena into her arms. "I am sorry," she said, stroking Zena's dark hair. "I am so very sorry. I loved your mother as my own sister. To lose her is very hard, but at least we have not lost you as well."

  For a moment, Zena slumped into the comfort of Pulot's arms, then she jumped up, an expression of horror on her face.

  "The wolf!" she exclaimed, and the agony in her tone was so strong the others flinched. "I have forgotten the wolf. I must go back. I cannot leave the wolf!"

  Astonishment marked Pulot's face. "A wolf? Surely you cannot go back for a wolf."

  Torlan leaped to his feet and knelt beside Zena, his face suffused with sympathy. "It will follow," he comforted her. "Truly, I believe it will follow."

  "Torlan is right," Marita agreed, coming to comfort Zena as well. "Wolves can swim. I am sure it is so."

  Lotar was close behind Marita. He knew how much Zena loved animals, and he could not bear to see her so hurt. "Even if the wolf does not follow," he said, bending over her solicitously, "the Mother could send a different wolf, or another animal perhaps."

  Pulot and Katli looked questioningly at Marita, who quickly explained, keeping her voice low so Zena would not become even more upset. The precaution was unnecessary. Zena did not hear; she did not even see them. Her eyes were focused inward, on the picture of the wolf the last time she had seen it, sitting quietly at the edge of the meadow, just at dusk. As if in response to her look, it had detached itself like a slim grey shadow from the long grasses and sat facing her, so that even in darkness she would know it was there. It was always nearby, watching, waiting, ready to follow wherever she went.

  The wolf had been sent to her by her mother; she was certain it had. Surely, such things were possible when a person had returned to the Mother. It was even possible that the spirit of a person could go into an animal. Had it been the wolf watching over her, or had it somehow been her mother?

  How could she have forgotten, left her mother, left the wolf, left the Goddess Herself, without a thought, without even a glance? She had even forgotten to return to her Kyrie, to speak once again to the Mother. How could she have done such a thing? To desert them was no different than deserting the Mother... And the vision, the vision of the place they would one day go; how would she find it, without the wolf? The Goddess had entrusted her with the sacred task of finding this place, and now she could not...

  Agony enclosed Zena, made it impossible for her to listen to Katli's calm assurance that wolves could swim, that she had seen them cross big rivers, or to feel Pulot's warm arms around her. She could not even feel Torlan's intense sympathy. Better than any of the others, he understood.

  She sat, a small figure bent in grief, oblivious to her surroundings. The strange fear Marita had felt earlier returned as she watched. Zena did not weep, she did not speak of her despair; she only sat there as if turned to stone. She had never wept, never expressed the pain she must have felt, must still feel, at her mother's death, at Conar's death and all the others. It was all bottled up inside her, and that was why Marita was afraid.

  A howl broke the silence. Zena leaped up and ran to the river. The others followed. The wolf sat on its haunches on the far bank, its nose thrust into the air. Again it howled, and then again.

  Marita grabbed Zena's hand, afraid she would leap into the water to return to the wolf. There was no need. As they watched, the wolf sprang into the river. Paddling strongly, it thrust its body toward them. The current caught it and pulled it downstream. Again, it struggled to move forward, but now the pull was too great. It slid away from them, bobbing helplessly along in the current. They saw its muzzle just above the water, and then it disappeared.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Summer was drawing to a close when Zena and the others reached the rest of the tribe. The two groups greeted each other joyously. After all that had happened, it seemed miraculous that they were together again. At the same time, the grief they felt for those who had been killed was sharper than ever. To know finally that Zena and Conar and all the others would never again be part of the tribe was devastating.

  Everyone was also very worried about the young Zena. She had hardly spoken since they had left the wolf behind. Her newfound confidence had disappeared, and she was so withdrawn Marita feared she might never recover. It was as if the Mother had known Zena was too young for the responsibilities that would be placed on her and had sent the wolf to help her. Now that the wolf was gone, she was only a girl again, a girl who was trying hard to be her tribe's wise one but did not have the resources.

  Just as worrisome was the tension that permeated the tribe. It seemed to Marita that their peace was once again threatened, but this time the threat came not from enemies outside, but from within the tribe. Rofal had become sullen and resentful, making the others nervous because they remembered the violence that had once been part of his nature, and Borg made everyone uneasy because they could not understand him, just as he could not understand them and their ways. Whenever Bukkor and Katalin laughed and joked together, as they often did, Borg glared furiously at the younger man and stalked away. Bukkor, who admired Borg, was puzzled and hurt by this treatment, and Katalin made everything worse by paying a great deal of attention to Bukkor whenever Borg was nearby.

  "You must not taunt Borg so," Marita scolded Katalin. "He knows our ways are different, but it is still hard for him to accept. To tease him only makes this worse."

  "I have taken him as a mate, but that does not mean he can tell me how to behave!" Katalin retorted sharply, but then she was sorry. Marita was right. She should not taunt Borg, but sometimes she seemed unable to help herself. Borg irritated her because he acted as if he owned her, like the men in the north, even when he knew that was not so. He also wanted to be with her all the time, so that she could never talk with others, or mate with other men. Mostly, though, Borg made her uneasy because she sensed he wanted her to give him something she could not give,
did not even understand. She liked him, was happy to mate with him, but that seemed not to be enough for him. And that was why she paid attention to Bukkor, to let Borg know she was still the one in charge.

  Still, for Marita's sake, and the others, she would try to stop being quite so friendly with Bukkor in Borg's presence. "You are right," she told Marita, sighing. "I will try not to do this any more. And I will wait before I take Bukkor to my mating place, or any of the other men. Borg would be unhappy if he knew - though he should not. Surely, by now, he ought to be able to accept our ways."

  "It does not seem right," she added irritably, "that I must act as Borg wants me to act instead of acting as I wish!"

  "Borg will learn," Marita counseled. "And there is no need to hurry with Bukkor. He is young still, and will wait."

  After that, Katalin paid less attention to Bukkor, and took only Borg to her mating place. They did not always have Akat there, but Borg did not seem to mind. To hold her and talk with her satisfied him almost as well. He quickly became calmer, and Marita was glad. That problem at least, seemed to be resolved.

  "It is good that Borg is happier," she whispered to Zena one morning, "especially now that the little one comes."

  Zena frowned. "The little one?"

  Smiling, Marita pulled her a short distance away from the others, so they could speak privately.

  "A little one is forming in Katalin's belly. That is why she was acting so strangely before.”

  "I forget sometimes that you are young," she added in an apologetic tone, "and would not notice these things. But I assure you it is true."

  Of course! Why had she not thought of that? Zena shook her head, amazed at her inability to see what should have been obvious. One mystery was solved at least, she thought, though Marita rather than the Mother had solved it.

  For a moment, she felt relief, as Marita did, because the relationship between Borg and Katalin was peaceful again, but then she realized the relief did not reach her heart. The peace between them would not last; she was certain she was right. There was no peace between Rofal and Sarila, either, and that was even worse because they had always been so close. It was all connected to Akat, to the rules of Akat; she was certain of that, too, but she still did not know what to do - except that once again, she must find a Kyrie. Without a Kyrie, she could not solve the problem of Akat, or discover more about the place she had seen in her vision, where the Mother People would one day gather. That was most important. The Mother had entrusted her with the sacred task of finding this place, and she must manage it somehow.