Already, she had begun to look, but without the wolf to guide her, she felt helpless. All the strength seemed to have drained out of her, and she did not know where to go. Sighing, she rose to search anyway. She was the next Zena, and she must do her best.
Lilan watched her go with a heavy heart. She had been given the responsibility of acting as wise one until Zena was old enough, and it was she, not Zena, who should be worrying. But ever since she had realized that Conar was truly dead, she had felt unable to concentrate on anything, even her painting. She and Conar had been far closer than most brothers and sisters, for he had been mother to her as well as brother when their mother had died, and the finality of the news had crushed her. Before, there had been hope; now there was none.
Compressing her lips to hold back her grief, she picked up the stone she had been painting and started to make a thin black line. Her fingers refused to do her bidding. The brush of animal hairs slipped, and the design was ruined. Shaking her head in frustration, she picked up another stone. But her heart was not in the effort, and without heart, a painting was nothing, so she gave up. How desperately she missed Conar, and the painting they had done together!
Torlan appeared before her, and she looked up wanly. He did not speak, only knelt and examined some of the paintings she had finished earlier. She was trying to create a story in pictures, of the reindeer and how they grazed, the grasses they liked, of how their young were born, and how, sometimes, one of them gave its life to feed her tribe. It was a way of thanking the Mother for Her gift. Lilan was not sure where she would put the painted stones when they were finished, but she hoped to find a place away from the rain and wind and snow.
Torlan looked up at her in surprise. "But they are beautiful," he said. "Truly, they are beautiful."
"Thank you," Lilan answered, liking this gentle young man. "Conar taught me, and we painted together in the caves. He was the finest painter of all."
"I wish I had seen the caves," Torlan answered. "Perhaps one day there will be others."
He looked at the brush Lilan had discarded, then at the stone. "I would like to try this," he said slowly. "I have never seen paintings before, or I did not think I had, but now I am not sure. It is as if - "
He broke off, puzzled. Lilan stared at him. She had heard his story, how he had been taken by the men with knives and had helped Katalin to escape, how he had known already of the Mother. Perhaps, if those things were true, he had come from a tribe that painted. Was such a thing possible? She had not thought there were others, but perhaps there had been.
Torlan seemed to be thinking similar thoughts. "Perhaps I know this from long ago, before I can remember," he said. "My mother did not speak of it, but she might have been afraid. The men with knives did not like to see images. Once, I made figures on the ground with a stick, and they beat me."
"Make a figure now," Lilan suggested. Torlan picked up a stick and swept a clear place on the ground. Slowly, he scraped the figure of a man running, then an animal running beside the man. It looked like a wolf, Lilan thought. It was gracefully drawn, as was the man. The figures were not perfect, but they moved as if they were alive.
"That is good," she commented. "It moves, as it should."
"Yes," Torlan agreed. "At least it moves. For the rest it is not so good, but perhaps I will improve. I will try some more in the days to come, if you do not mind."
"That I would love," Lilan answered sincerely. "I have wanted badly to find someone who wishes to draw, like me."
"Then I will try," Torlan replied, smiling at her.
"Now I must go in search of Zena," he continued. "Sometimes she becomes absorbed in her thoughts and wanders too far away."
Lilan laughed and was surprised at the sound. She had not laughed for a long time. "Zena can become absorbed," she agreed. "It is good of you to take such care of her."
"This I was born for," Torlan answered seriously. "There is much I do not know about myself, but of this I am certain." Without waiting for an answer, he strode away.
Lilan looked after him curiously. That was a strange thing to say, though it had the ring of truth. But why should Zena need Torlan to watch out for her? A frisson of fear rippled up her spine. All was not well with the tribe; she knew that as well as Marita, but she had not thought that something could happen to Zena. Though she was only a child, they all depended on Zena.
She rose quickly, shaking her thoughts away. To be fearful for no reason would not help. Besides, it was time she went to find Pulot, who was minding the children. Pulot adored children, but surely even she needed a rest by now.
Pulot, however, was perfectly happy. She and Marita were sitting by the stream that wound through the trees near the clearing, chatting amiably while the children threw pebbles and splashed in the water. Lilan waved a friendly greeting and went on. She saw Rofal and Sarila ahead and decided to join them. Perhaps if she talked to them, she could find out what had happened between them. That would take some of the worry from Zena's young shoulders.
As she came closer she realized they were arguing. "It is not right that you should take others," Rofal was saying angrily. "That is wrong. You are my mate, and I do not wish any other man to be the father of your children."
"The Mother does not wish us to behave that way," Sarila replied, her voice tremulous. "I am happy only to have you, but that is not the Mother's way."
"I do not care," Rofal answered stubbornly.
Sarila took his hand and placed it on her swollen belly. "This one is yours, like the first," she assured him, a pleading note in her voice. "I am certain it is so."
Rofal pulled his hand away. "I am not," he answered, and stalked away.
Lilan could not avoid hearing them, but she was still embarrassed. To listen to a private conversation was not right. Neither of them had seen her, and she was about to go back the other way when she realized Sarila was weeping. Not to comfort her seemed cruel.
"Sarila," she called. "Sarila, are you all right?"
Sarila spun around. "Oh, Lilan, I am so glad to see you. I have not wished to speak, but I am afraid, so afraid."
"What frightens you, Sarila?" Lilan asked, taking her hand.
"I am not sure, only that Rofal does not wish me to take other mates, and sometimes he is so angry and I am afraid he will do something terrible. It as if the violence in him is coming back and now even I cannot stop it. Before, I could help him, now I cannot, and it is because I must take others..."
She broke off, sobbing. Lilan did not answer, just held her until the sobs had ceased, then sat her down on a log at the edge of the woods.
"That Rofal does not wish to abide by the ways of the Mother is a problem for all of us, Sarila. We must speak of it in the council, see what can be done."
Sarila shook her head violently. "But that will only make him more angry. I should not have spoken."
"Yes, it was right to speak," Lilan answered firmly. "I am certain we can find a way to deal with this. Always, there are solutions if only we listen to the Mother."
"But we know already!" Sarila objected. "We know that what Rofal wants is wrong and the council will not agree."
"Still, we must try," Lilan said, surprised at her own certainty. "There may be a solution we have not yet thought of." She led Sarila back to the clearing and settled her in the shelter to rest. Marita, who had been preparing food by the fire, looked up but did not speak. Instead, she prepared a warm drink infused with herbs and carried it to Sarila.
"You must have this now," she said in her normal cheerful voice. "It will strengthen you, and that is good."
Sarila sipped the drink, and the tension slowly drained from her face. Marita nodded, satisfied. "Now, you can sleep for a time. Then, you will be fine."
Lilan brought some furs; together they wrapped them around Sarila and walked quietly away.
"She is troubled," Marita observed.
Lilan nodded. "Yes, she is troubled, and I wish I was wiser so I would know what to
do."
She sighed. Sarila's words had upset her badly. Rofal was capable of violence; they all knew that, but Sarila had always been able to soothe him. Even when they were children, a look of peace had come over Rofal's face whenever Sarila had slipped her hand into his. If even she could not help him now...
Marita's voice broke into her thoughts. "You are wise," the older woman said, nodding her head firmly. "I have seen this. Perhaps you do not know it, but it is so."
"Thank you, Marita." Lilan's heart swelled with gratitude that Marita should think well of her, but she was still not sure she was going to be able to deal with this problem.
The next day, Sarila begged her to wait until the baby was born before discussing the matter in council. Reluctantly, Lilan agreed. And as the months passed and winter hardened its grip, she kept putting off the discussion. Both Rofal and Borg became more peaceful; as a result, the tension in the tribe slowly dissipated. To get everyone upset again just when they had calmed down seemed wrong.
The hollow bones Pulot had provided were one reason Rofal was happier, Lilan suspected. Many years ago, in their old home, Pulot had entertained the children with hollow reeds that made sounds when they blew into them. Unexpectedly, Rofal had adored the reeds, and soon became expert at making holes in them to produce a variety of sounds so beautiful they transported everyone who listened. They did not have reeds here, but Pulot had persuaded Rofal to try making holes in the bones instead. The activity had always calmed Rofal, and it calmed him now, and the sounds he made were more beautiful than ever. Lilan was grateful and wished she had thought of the idea before.
Borg seemed happier, too. He still seemed ill at ease with the group, especially when they performed various ceremonies, but at least he no longer snapped at Bukkor. He was even teaching Bukkor how to throw with a launcher and to chop with the axe, which Bukkor had always wanted. When Katalin told him about the infant, Borg was ecstatic. Over and over he placed a hand on her belly, to feel the little one kick, and he took great care of Katalin, lest she injure herself in any way. He was also afraid that the birth might harm Katalin, as it had his first mate. Lilan assured him that Katalin was strong and healthy, but Borg's fears did not dissipate entirely until the baby was born and he saw for himself that Katalin was fine. After that, he spent hours watching the infant, a lusty boy, then rushing off to find food for Katalin, so she would regain her strength quickly. All seemed well with the tribe, and Lilan relaxed, Marita, too. Only Zena worried, but she kept her worries to herself. Like the others, she did not want to disturb the tribe's peace.
She rubbed her forehead, which seemed always to ache, and tried to think why she was so worried. Probably, she realized, it was because she had not yet found another Kyrie, because she had no idea how she was going to fulfill the mission entrusted to her by the Mother, because she felt so terribly weak and unable to be a wise one as she should. Still, something else was bothering her, something she could not ignore or explain away. It was the same sense of menace she had felt by the river, before the wolf had led her to her Kyrie, except now it was much stronger. Some kind of danger was approaching; she could feel it, almost taste it, but she still did not know what it was or where it came from. Did it involve Akat, come from within the tribe, or was there some kind of threat from outside, perhaps from the men with knives?
She did not know, could not tell. All she knew was that the menace was there, gathering around them, and that she could not make it go away.
*******************
The tenuous peace within the tribe lasted until the day in early spring when Katalin decided it was time to invite Bukkor to her mating place. He had been very patient, and it was not right to make him wait any longer. Besides, Borg was away tending his snares, and would not be back until dusk. To have to wait until Borg was far away to take Bukkor to her mating place did not feel right, she thought with a spurt of irritation, but probably it was best. Borg was still not entirely comfortable with their ways, but she was certain he understood the rules of Akat - he had to after all this time. Even so, she suspected he would find it difficult to know that she was mating with others. For such a long time, he had been her only mate, and he was accustomed to having her all to himself. Now, however, she must begin to take others, as the Mother had decreed.
She asked Sarila to watch the infant for her while she took Bukkor to her mating place. Sarila's baby had been born in early winter, and they often took turns helping each other. Sarila took the little boy gladly, assuring Katalin that she had plenty of milk and would feed him if he cried.
Her high spirits restored, Katalin reached out to tickle Bukkor, who was sitting beside her, then dragged him, laughing, into the woods. To finally have Akat with him would be a pleasure. Borg was a wonderful lover, but he was also very serious, while Bukkor was young and light-hearted. Now, they would be able to laugh and joke together all afternoon, as well as having Akat, without worrying about Borg. For a moment, she felt disloyal, then she shrugged the feeling away. The Mother wished her to take Bukkor, other men as well, and that was more important than what Borg preferred.
Borg, however, did not stay away as long as Katalin had expected. In his second trap, he found a hare, the biggest he had ever caught. He whistled in surprise at its huge size, its thick and lustrous fur. He would run back to the clearing and show it to Katalin, he decided, and check the rest of his snares later. She would be pleased. She had been asking for new coverings for her feet, and the hare's fur would make excellent ones.
He ran eagerly into the clearing and was disappointed to see that Katalin was not there. The infant was happily suckling at Sarila's breast, but Sarila was not certain where Katalin had gone. Bukkor was also absent, Borg noticed, and immediately tried to quell the anxiety that sprang up in his mind. Katalin had made it clear that he was her mate, not Bukkor, and there was no reason to worry. No doubt she and Bukkor were off somewhere playing games together, or looking for small animals in the woods, as they often did. The two were good friends, and there was no harm in that. Or perhaps they were not even together, but were each performing separate tasks.
He would wait here for Katalin and finish his traps in the morning, he decided, when there was more light. In the meantime, he would skin the hare, so Katalin could see how thick and warm its fur would be. The thought was pleasing, and he waited eagerly for her return. Each time he heard a footstep or saw a movement in the trees, he looked up hopefully, but it was always one of the others returning from a trip to find food, or more wood for the fire.
Restlessness invaded Borg as he continued to wait, and he had a sudden, intense longing for his own tribe. He had been with the Mother People for a long time, but he still felt uncomfortable sometimes, especially when they performed their ceremonies. The aura of sacredness they conjured up in their circles of stone impressed him, but he could not bring himself to sit with them or speak to this Mother they worshiped. His people often spoke to the Great Hunter, but they did not do it all together, as the Mother People did, sitting in a circle as if they were one with each other and with the Goddess they worshiped.
Borg shook his head impatiently. He was not sure he would ever become accustomed to living here. Soon, he decided, he would take Katalin and return to his own tribe. He had waited until she found her people, as she had asked, and she had been able to spend a long time with them. After that, he had waited until the infant was born, but now there was no reason to delay further.
The thought made him even more restless because he wanted to ask Katalin right away if she would agree to leave. He tried to concentrate on his task, but the restlessness just kept growing. Finally he could not wait any longer. Setting the hare aside, he went to look for Katalin. He searched all the places he could think of, but he still could not find her.
Frowning, he tried to decide where to look next. An image of the mating place where he and Katalin had spent so many blissful evenings came into his mind. With the image came the terrible suspicion that had
always plagued him, no matter how hard he tried to push it away. Surely, though, he reassured himself, it was not possible that Katalin would take Bukkor there. She would not do such a thing. Still, Borg found himself wandering slowly toward the place. To look there seemed wrong, as if he did not trust Katalin, but he could not stop himself. He had to know.
As soon as he approached the place, he knew they were there. The sounds were obvious, but he did not want to believe them. The thought that Katalin would take another mate now, after what they had experienced together, after having a baby together, was too monstrous to believe. He stood stupefied, unable even to move, and then he heard the groans, the unmistakable groans of passion.
He burst into the clearing, screaming her name, and grabbed Bukkor's arm to pull him away. Katalin looked astonished for a moment, and then he saw anger distort her features. How could she be angry? That was more monstrous still. It was he who should be angry, she who should be frightened, remorseful...
"You have no right to be here," she screamed at him. "How can you come here like this, when I am with Bukkor! Leave us, leave now, and do not come back!" She rose to her feet and faced him, her hands on her hips.
"How can you say that! I am your mate, not Bukkor! You have chosen me!"
"I may choose as many mates as I wish! And after this, you may not be one of them!"
Borg shook his head in confusion. Surely, she could not mean such a thing. No woman would take any mate she wished.
CIRCLES IN THE SKY (The Mother People Series Book 2) Page 14
