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

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  Her own men would eagerly follow her orders; of that she was certain. She was more the leader of this tribe than Gorn, she thought disdainfully. The men looked to her for direction, not to him.

  Veeta frowned. To convince the leaders of the other tribes do her bidding was more difficult. Never before had a woman led the Northern tribes, and never before had anyone undertaken a mission as great as this.

  Biting her lips in concentration, she considered how to manage this problem. The only way, she thought slowly, might be to make the men believe she had some special kind of power, one they could not afford to ignore. That should be possible. After all, the ones called Zena were women, and they had great powers. The Mother People on whom she had tried her plan had told her that, in hushed and reverent voices. Veeta almost laughed aloud as she recalled what she had done to them.

  Her eyes opened wide in sudden recognition. Of course! That was how she would get her own special power - she would steal it from Zena. The older one had been killed when Vetron had raided the big caves, the Mother People had told her, but the small daughter, who was also called Zena, was alive, and she would have the power now.

  Veeta began to pace. To have such power, she reasoned, the ones called Zena must be witches who had special rituals and incantations that made others obey. All she, Veeta, had to do was to force this daughter called Zena to tell her the source of her power, and what kind of magic she used to make everyone - men as well as women - do her bidding. Then she could seize the power for herself. The old ones had often told her how a witch's power could be stolen. It should not be difficult.

  She must find this Zena soon, Veeta thought. But how was she to do that? The answer came quickly, and this time she did laugh aloud. The Mother People would do it for her. Every group she had met was looking for the girl called Zena. She had only to follow them south. No doubt she would find Borg and Tron at the same time.

  Her laughter evaporated as another thought struck her. She needed to follow them now, not later. Why should she wait until Gorn was ready to leave?

  She would go without him, she decided, take a few of her most faithful men and set out right away. She would take Nordal, too. They could practice her plan as they traveled, and Nordal could help with that.

  A smile of triumph twisted Veeta's lips. By the time she found Borg and Tron and the child called Zena, she would be so practiced that no one would ever know what had happened until it was too late.

  From behind the trees Borg watched, mesmerized, as Veeta’s face reflected her thoughts. Anger contorted her features first; then fear made her eyes alert and watchful. Golden eyes, he saw, like a leopard. After that triumph spread slowly over the long face, a look so savage it almost caused him to draw in his breath sharply and give his presence away. And now she was smiling, a cruel smile that narrowed the long golden eyes as it grew and turned down the corners of her mouth instead of curving them up, as a smile usually did. Abruptly, the smile disappeared as Veeta set her jaw firmly.

  Borg shivered involuntarily. This was a strong woman, but strong in a harming way, not a good one. There was much cruelty in her, and determination.

  Vetron! The answer came to him suddenly, that it was Vetron she resembled. The hair, the face, were exactly alike, except that Veeta was a woman. Was she his sister, perhaps, that she wanted to avenge him? And who was the man Tron she looked for also? The name seemed familiar, but he could not remember where he had heard it spoken.

  He frowned, trying to make sense of the boy's words. He must go from this place before Veeta saw him, the boy had said, and he must warn Torlan and Zena. That Veeta wanted to kill him because he had killed her brother, Borg could understand. How Torlan and Zena were involved was less clear - unless Veeta also blamed them for Vetron's death. That was possible, he supposed, since they had been traveling together. But why Zena? Torlan might have helped him kill Vetron, but not the girl.

  Unexpectedly, Zena's face came into his mind. She looked helpless, he thought, as if she was lost or afraid, though that seemed unlikely. Zena was not easily frightened, and she was also very clever. Could she truly be in danger from Veeta? And how had the boy known of her, and of Torlan?

  Of course, he realized, Torlan had been with Vetron, had come with him from the far north when Vetron had left in search of a new home. So it was likely that Veeta had known Torlan, that the boy had also known him, since Veeta was his mother. But how had the boy known of Zena?

  Borg shook his head in frustration. He did not understand, but he would have to go back anyway, to warn them. He did not want to, but he had no choice. Veeta might try to harm Zena, and if she did, the others would also be in danger because they would defend her. Even Marita might be in danger, and he could not let anyone harm Marita.

  He looked again at Veeta. Her eyes were focused inward, on her thoughts, and he wished he could know what they were. He shivered again. Vetron had been dangerous, but there was something about Veeta that made chills run up his spine.

  Grabbing his bundle of tools and furs, Borg slid from his hiding place and headed south. The woman his brother had found would have to wait.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Torlan put the final touch on the statue he was carving. He had not been able to paint with Lilan during Zena's illness, so he had decided to try carving instead. The activity calmed him and kept him occupied during the long hours of watching over Zena.

  He listened carefully to her breathing before he jumped up to go for a moment to the woods. Zena took in air more easily now, but he had not seen any other signs of improvement. Many cycles of the moon had passed since the old healer had left, and for all that time he had been trying to pull the sickness from Zena in the way that Lilan had explained. He did not think his efforts had helped, except for the breathing.

  One day, as he had massaged her still body, a picture had come to him, a strange picture, of Zena wrapped in a cocoon that was too tight for her, that would not let her move or even breathe. It was thin and filmy, like those the caterpillars made, but it was stronger than it looked, and she could not break free. He must help her, he had realized. Over and over again, he had torn at the enclosing strands with fingers made strong by the constant effort, then flung them into the darkness so they could not return. The tightness around Zena had gradually eased, but at the same time Torlan was aware of a deep core of sickness inside her that would not budge. He could not seem to reach it, no matter how hard he tried.

  Familiar sounds greeted him as he entered the woods, and some of his tension lifted. Birds scratched noisily at the leaf litter on the forest floor, and small animals rustled in the bushes. Far away, a hawk screamed its harsh, repetitive call.

  Another sound brought Torlan to a halt. It was faint, so faint he thought at first he had imagined it. Then the sound came again, a low whine, and he crept forward, hardly daring to hope. Was it possible, after all this time?

  A slight movement caught his eye, and then he saw the wolf, lying in a small hollow under a tree. It was stretched out on its side, as if utterly exhausted, and its bones showed clearly under the dark and matted fur. Even from a distance, he could see that its paws were cracked and bleeding.

  Zena's wolf. It had returned.

  The wolf raised its head and looked toward him, but its eyes were so glazed Torlan was not sure they saw anything. Pity caught at him, and fear. The wolf was weak - too weak. He must not let it die.

  He crept soundlessly back to the clearing. "Meat! I must have meat!"

  His insistent whisper caught the others by surprise. Torlan had just left Zena to go to the bushes, and now he was calling for meat. Had his long vigil affected his senses?

  Katli jumped up, her eyes suddenly wide with comprehension. Always attuned to animals, she had heard the faint whine. "Here," she said softly, handing him chunks of flesh from a deer she was skinning. "Give it this."

  Torlan crept toward the trees again. He must not frighten it, must not drive it away.

  "Do not go too
close," Katli whispered, coming noiselessly up behind him. "Just leave the meat. Not too much. That will make it sick if it has not eaten for many days."

  Torlan set the meat down and they went quietly away to watch from a distance. For a long time the wolf did not move. Perhaps it was too weak to move, Torlan thought anxiously, and he should put the meat closer. He was just about to rise when Katli pressed his arm in warning.

  "It will come," she said, so softly he was not sure he had heard. Almost as she spoke, the wolf pulled itself up and limped painfully toward the meat. Grabbing a big hunk in its jaws, it retreated to its spot under the tree and began to eat. It came back for another hunk, then it laid its muzzle on its paws and closed its eyes.

  "Water," Katli whispered. "I will get water." She returned with a stone bowl of water and placed it by the meat.

  "Now we must watch and wait," she murmured. "Katalin and I will take turns so you can be with Zena."

  Torlan nodded and returned to Zena's side, but his eyes kept straying to the woods. The wolf had given him hope. He was certain it would help Zena, once it had regained some strength. But how could they get it to come to her? Wolves never came close to people; even this wolf had stayed well away from the clearing by the river, had come to Zena only when she was alone. And to leave her alone was impossible when she was so sick. To carry her to the wolf was also risky. She was too sick to be moved. Somehow, they must bring the wolf to her.

  At least, he thought with relief, Zena was outside, not in a hut, where the wolf would never go. Unless the air was very cold, or wet with snow or rain, they kept her in the clearing, with furs and the fire for warmth. She seemed to breathe more easily there than in the often smoky huts.

  "We can put the meat a little closer to Zena each day, to draw the wolf to her," Lilan suggested, when she and Marita came to bathe Zena and turn her. They did not like to leave her for too long in one position, lest she become sore.

  "The fire will frighten it," Marita objected.

  "We can keep it very low," Lilan said. "I have seen animals go close to a fire when there were no flames."

  During the next days, they kept the fire low and put the meat closer and closer to the place where Zena lay. To their dismay, the wolf only grabbed the food and limped back to its hollow under the tree. Still, it looked stronger, and that was encouraging.

  Pulot had another idea. "We could make another fire, so that there are not so many people to frighten the wolf. Then it will not be so hard to make it come close."

  The others agreed, and hurried to make another hearth a short distance away, for everyone except Zena and Torlan and Katli. The wolf seemed to trust her, and let her come as close as Torlan now.

  The wolf relaxed visibly with fewer people nearby, but it still would not come close. If they left the meat too far from its resting place, the wolf ignored it; when they moved the meat closer the wolf grabbed it and returned to the tree. Often, it looked up at them with expectant eyes, as if it was waiting for something. Perhaps, Torlan thought, it was waiting for Zena to come to it.

  Desperate now with impatience, Torlan decided he had to take a chance and carry Zena to the wolf. Each day, she seemed to be drifting still further away, almost as if she were unwilling to let go of the sickness inside her. The feeling was strong in Torlan that her reluctance was connected to the wolf, that she clung to the sickness because of her guilt at leaving it. If she could feel the wolf, rub its fur, she might know it had returned, and her guilt would be less.

  He was just about to lift her when Lotar came over from the other fire to see if Zena was any better.

  "Perhaps it cannot smell Zena because she lies so close to the fire," he suggested, watching Torlan's worried face, "and that is why it does not come."

  Torlan clapped his hand to his forehead. Of course - the wolf might not know Zena was there at all! That was why it had not come closer, why it seemed to be waiting. Zena had always come to it before so it was simply waiting until she did. Why had he not thought of that before? He frowned as another thought struck him. There was no need to carry Zena to the wolf. Instead, he could take her scent to the wolf so it would know she was nearby. Then, surely, it would come to her.

  He hugged Lotar quickly. "You are right," he said excitedly. "But now you must go back to the other fire. Watch from there, and tell the others not to come close to Zena."

  Grabbing one of the furs he used to cover Zena at night, he slowly approached the wolf. The reaction was immediate. Hairs rose on the wolf's back, and it began to whine, a low, sustained whine that came from deep in its throat. It rose to its feet, still whining, and stretched its body toward the fur.

  Torlan pulled the fur away from it, a little further each time. The wolf came forward, took a step back and came forward again. Then, with a sudden burst, it came all the way up to the fur and sniffed it. The hairs rose again, and it looked up at Torlan, as if perplexed. Torlan turned and looked back toward Zena, pointing his finger. The wolf's yellow eyes followed his gesture, and then it saw her, the small, still bundle that was Zena. Now there was no hesitation. Whining softly, the wolf came to her and licked her face, over and over, with long, slow swipes of its tongue. Watching, Torlan felt unaccustomed tears slide down his face.

  When it had finished its licking, the wolf settled itself beside Zena, its muzzle resting by her shoulder. Torlan waited for a while, then he came to sit on Zena's other side. The wolf looked up at his approach but did not move. Gently, Torlan picked up one of Zena's limp hands and placed it on the wolf's back, so she would know it was there. A shiver passed though her; the wolf shivered as well, then both were still again.

  All through the night, they stayed that way, the wolf on one side, with Zena's fingers resting lightly on its back, Torlan on the other. Just before he slept, Torlan heard Zena sigh, as if in relief. It was the first sound he had heard her make for a long time, and he was encouraged.

  In the morning, the wolf was gone, but Torlan saw it eating nearby and was not disturbed. It would be back. He stretched and leaned over Zena to check on her. The garment he wore around his chest fell away from him as he moved, letting in the cool morning air. Quickly, he pulled it back again.

  "I am flying!" The words were distinct, but Torlan could not believe them. Had they truly come from Zena? He studied her face, terrified lest they had not and he was only dreaming, even more terrified lest the words mean she was dying. It had always seemed to him that when death came, a person flew into the clouds, for surely the Mother must be there, in the endless expanse of sky and space. Was that why Zena had spoken? Surely not; surely the Mother had not taken her, not now, when the wolf had come.

  He picked up one of her hands and chafed it desperately. He could not let her go! A strangled groan escaped him, and Lilan came running.

  "She has spoken," he said. "She has spoken, but I think it is because she is returning to the Mother."

  Lilan knelt to examine Zena, but Torlan did not dare, lest he see the grayness of death, the final pallor and stillness. He did not see that Zena's forehead had creased into a frown, that her mouth was once more forming words. But Lilan saw, and she burst into tears. Torlan's terror increased and he chafed ever more desperately at Zena's hands, as if somehow the strength of his touch could keep her from leaving.

  "I must sleep," Zena said irritably. "You must let me sleep!"

  Torlan looked down then and dropped her hand. The wolf was suddenly beside him, licking Zena's face. Again she frowned, but then her face relaxed. The sigh came again, the small sigh of relief. She reached out to touch the wolf, and then she slept.

  Lilan and Torlan stared at each other, then at Zena. Her breathing was steady, and there was no pallor, no look of death. Instead, a faint color had come into her cheeks, and peace had returned to her face.

  "She will live," Lilan breathed. "Zena will live." She had seen the signs before, many times, and she was sure.

  Struggling to control the emotions that had overcome her, she rose s
lowly to her feet and went to the circle of stones. She must thank the Mother, let the others know. For a long moment, she stood still, her arms raised to the sky, unable to speak through a throat swollen with relief and gratitude. Finally, the words broke free.

  "Great Mother," she said in a low, strong voice, "we thank You for this gift, the gift of Zena's life. We were afraid, so very afraid. Always, You have told us, there must be one called Zena, for in her resides the wisdom and strength that generations of Mother People will need in the years to come. Now, it will be so. Great Goddess, from our hearts and souls we thank You."

  Hearing her words, the others came and added their voices to the blessing, very softly, so they would not disturb the wolf. Still, the murmuring voices seemed to Torlan to fill the air with a sound almost as beautiful as Rofal's flute. And when the voices had faded and the air was quiet again, he heard the flute itself, as Rofal thanked the Mother in his special way.

  That sound faded, too, and silence came. No one spoke again, no one moved, as the terrible fear that had been in all their hearts slowly drained away and the new understanding became real. Zena would live, and one day another Zena would be born, to serve the Mother in her turn. And so it would be, generation after generation, as the Mother had decreed.

  One at a time, those who knew Zena best came to touch her, to see with their own eyes that she would live. The wolf stirred and looked up as each person came, but it did not move from its place. A faint smile touched Zena's lips as she felt the touch of their hands, heard their murmured words, but she did not try to speak or open her eyes. She was too tired still, and she had been so far away. To be here again felt strange.