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

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  At night, when there were only stars, she thought, she would open her eyes. The stars were familiar. She had been among them many times, flying in slow circles through the sky. She liked it up there in the quiet darkness, with only the brilliant bits of light and the softness of the clouds to hold her. The ground beneath her now was much harder than the clouds. Her back ached with its hardness. There were smells down here, too, smells that had not been there when she had flown around the stars. She tried to think what they were. The fire, and other people, and a bitter smell, of something they kept putting in her mouth. Medicine, she thought. She had been sick. That was it; she had been sick and they were trying to make her well again.

  Her hand touched fur, and she turned her head. That was the other smell, of an animal. She saw the wolf then and smiled. Her wolf had come back. She had known this in her dreams, but now she knew it was real. The wolf was lying beside her, where she could see it as well as touch it and smell it.

  Tears squeezed from Zena’s eyes, the first tears she had shed since her mother's death, and a deep shuddering sigh came from her chest. She felt something crack there, as if the frozen place inside her had finally begun to melt, not all at once, but one piece at a time, as ice breaking up in a river melts. Pulling herself closer to the wolf, she wept silently for a long time, and then she slept.

  When she woke again, she saw Torlan above her. He was always there, watching over her. She looked into his eyes, saw tears form there that fell onto her face. She paid no attention to them but just kept staring. There was something she must remember... Something about Torlan that was very important...

  "The wings," she said weakly. "It was your wings. That is why I could fly, because of the wings."

  "But now you are back," Torlan answered softly. "You have come back to us."

  Zena smiled. He was right. She had come back, but she would fly again, many times. That was the meaning of Torlan's mark. He was the other half of her, the half that allowed her earthbound body to soar into the sky, where the visions came. To fly was all she had, for she could not walk. She had known that all along.

  "Where are the others?" she asked, wanting suddenly to know that they were nearby.

  "They are over there," Torlan answered, pointing.

  The answer satisfied Zena. Sighing, she nestled against the wolf. Torlan was there, the wolf was there, and Lilan and all the others. She could sleep now, without worry.

  When Lilan and Marita came to bathe her, she greeted them, then lapsed quickly into sleep again. They were pleased.

  "She will get a little better each day," Marita predicted confidently. Her words were accurate; as the days passed, then the months, Zena continued to improve. She ate voraciously, as if to make up for her long illness, and seemed to grow, to change from girl to woman, almost before their eyes. Her mind and spirit improved as well; no longer silent and withdrawn, she was eager to advise and help.

  "It is time Zena began to move around again," Lilan told Torlan one day, when he came for food. "She must get strength back into her body, her legs especially."

  A strange expression crossed Zena's face when they suggested she try to walk a little while they supported her. Turning away from them, she stroked the wolf's fur, which had become thick and glossy again, before she answered. The wolf was completely accustomed to all of them now, and seldom left her side.

  "This cannot be done," she said quietly. "My legs do not work any more. It is the Mother's will."

  Lilan frowned. "They are just weak, because you have not used them," she said. "This often happens when people have been very ill, as you were."

  Zena shook her head. "No. They will not work again." She smiled up at them. "But I have the wolf to watch over me, and Torlan's wings, so that I may fly into the sky. The clouds hold me as I fly."

  Torlan could not answer. Zena’s words were true; he knew it in his heart. The old healer had known it, too. "There it lodges," she had said, feeling Zena's legs. She had tried to pull the sickness from them; he and Lilan had tried, massaging Zena's legs over and over as the healer had shown them. They had all tried, but they had failed.

  Lilan, however, was skeptical. She bent down to examine Zena's legs. "Can you feel this?" she asked, pricking one leg, then the other, with a sharp stick.

  Zena shook her head. "They do not work," she repeated. There was no sadness in her tone, or regret. It had been her legs, after all, that had taken her from the wolf, from her mother, from the Goddess Herself. And so it was her legs that had absorbed the pain, the misery and anger and ignorance that came when the Mother’s ways, the wisdom of the circles, were forgotten and evil was loosed across the world. She had held the evil within her while she was sick, must continue to hold it, lest it spread again. Mercifully, the Mother had made her legs numb, so she no longer had to feel the pain.

  She tried to think how to explain these things to Lilan, but the effort was too great and she gave up. Soon, she must tell the others all she had learned, but now she did not think she could summon the strength.

  "I do not mind," she assured Lilan instead. "I can go many places when I fly and in my dreams, so I do not need my legs as much as others."

  "It is possible the feeling will return," Lilan answered gently. But Zena knew it was not so.

  Lilan repeated her tests many times as another winter came, then another spring and summer, but always the results were the same. In all other ways, however, Zena continued to improve, and that was most important. The assurance and sense of authority they had all noticed by the river had returned, and despite the weakness in her legs Zena's mind was strong and steady. She had even found a new Kyrie. Torlan and Bukkor had devised a large sling, held by poles on their shoulders, in which to carry her. With the wolf leading the way, they had discovered a small, flat plateau with a view of the area that Zena had proclaimed was perfect. Day after day, she communed there with the Goddess, the wolf beside her, and Torlan, as always, watching from a distance. Even though some of the visions that came to her were disturbing, to speak to the Goddess again brought peace to her heart and wisdom to her words.

  No longer did Zena have to try hard to be their wise one, Lilan thought; she was their wise one now. A feeling of deep contentment settled over the tribe, especially when Zena told them about the new home she had seen, with its great standing stones. One day soon, the Goddess would tell her how to get there, Zena assured them, and then, finally, their dream would be fulfilled. For these blessings, Lilan was grateful.

  "We are all more peaceful now that Zena has returned to us," she commented to Marita one day, as they sat together in the warm sun. "Rofal no longer argues, Sarila looks happy again, Katalin, too, though I think she misses Borg."

  Marita sighed. "I, too, miss Borg," she answered sadly. "Still, it is partly because he is not here that we are more peaceful. There is no doubt he brought tension."

  "It is too bad," she continued, "that we cannot have in our midst a person with different ideas, and still live peacefully."

  Lilan nodded. "That is very difficult, as we have seen. Even if Borg had understood our ways, especially about Akat, he would not have accepted them. And how can a tribe have two ways of behaving at the same time?"

  "I am not sure that can be done," Marita agreed. "Still, I would like to see Borg again one day."

  Katalin joined them. "I would like to see him again, too, especially now that the little one has grown so big." Her voice was unexpectedly wistful.

  She looked down at her child, who was trying hard to jump up and down on two feet. He put one foot up, then the next, tried to leap but fell back on his rump instead, howling in anger. Katalin picked him up and soothed him, wishing Borg could have watched. He would have laughed with pleasure, she thought, then soothed the little boy himself. She had not realized until he had left how much she had cared for Borg. Without him, even Akat had lost much of its pleasure.

  Katalin's remark forced Lilan think of another concern, one she had not yet expres
sed to anyone. She had finally accepted the fact that Zena would not walk again - what worried her was the effect the lack of feeling in Zena's body might have when the time came to carry and bear a child. Zena was truly a woman now; her child-like contours had long ago given way to rounded hips and breasts. Already, she was mature enough for Akat. What would happen then? Would she be able to mate, to give birth?

  Lilan did not know, could not tell, and so she worried. One Zena gave birth to another, or her sister did; it had always been so. But Zena had no sister. Only through Zena could the next Zena be born, and Lilan was not sure that was possible.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Snow swirled around Borg's head, making it almost impossible to see. It was the wet, heavy snow of spring, much harder to walk in than the light flakes of deep winter. To keep his feet moving through the sodden layers took all the strength he had.

  Soon, he would have to stop and build a snow cave, wait out the storm. To go on was dangerous. The effort to walk made him sweat, and that was bad because once he stopped moving he would be cold, too cold. If he could not warm himself in time, the shaking could come, and then a kind of craziness, so he would no longer know where to go and would just walk in circles until finally he lay down in the snow to die.

  The man who had told Veeta to wait until winter had gone completely before leaving had been right, he reflected grimly. He should probably have waited as well, but after watching Veeta he had been unable to think of anything else but reaching Marita and the others as fast as he could.

  He would go just to the top of the next hill and down the other side, he decided, then find a sheltered place for a cave. Unexpectedly, the smell of smoke came to his nostrils as he floundered on. The smoke had meat in it, and his stomach began to growl with hunger. He had not eaten all day.

  There must be others below, he realized, watching a thin trail of smoke rise from a small hollow. Perhaps they would be friendly and offer him some of the meat. He moved cautiously toward the fire and then hid behind a rock to watch and listen. The words he heard quickly reassured him. These were Mother People, not people from the far north.

  He moved closer, where they could see him easily, and spoke a greeting in their words. They returned the greeting, but he saw strain in their faces, as if they were still afraid.

  "I am Borg, and I go to find Zena and those in her tribe," he told them, hoping the name would reassure them.

  "Zena? You go to find Zena?" One of the women jumped up and came to him. Her eyes were still full of fear, but the fear was not for him, Borg realized. He studied the other faces. All of them seemed afraid. Then he noticed two women sitting at the edge of the fire, weeping. Another woman was trying to comfort them. A small child was held closely in her arms.

  "This man is cold and hungry," one of the men said. "We must feed him, warm him, and then we will speak. Perhaps he can help."

  "I thank you," Borg said. "I will help if I can, if you will tell me what troubles you."

  The man handed him some chunks of meat that had been cooling beside the fire before he spoke.

  "The children," he said quietly. "Two of the children have disappeared. It has been a long time now, but we still grieve. We travel south like so many others, and the children were playing one evening by a stream. Then they were gone. For many days, we searched, but we never found them or even any trace of them. There was no raid, as in the past, no signs of violence, not even marks on the ground. Finally, we moved on, but now we are always afraid. Perhaps there is an animal that takes children and carries them away. We do not know."

  Borg's hand froze in the middle of transporting a piece of meat to his mouth. He had heard that story from another group of Mother People he had passed. How was it possible that the same thing should happen twice?

  "I have never heard of an animal that takes a child leaving no tracks at all," he answered slowly, "but perhaps it is possible. Another group of people I spoke to said the same. Two of their children were taken."

  The man looked up sharply. "This has happened to others?"

  Borg nodded. "Where were you when this happened?"

  "We were near the big caves where Zena once lived. We heard she had been killed by the men with knives. Now, we look for the young Zena. The Great Mother has told our wise woman that we must find her, though we do not know why."

  Borg frowned. That seemed strange, that the child should disappear where Veeta and her tribe were now living. "Did you speak to the woman called Veeta who lives there?" he asked. “She has hair like flames.”

  "We spoke to a woman with hair like that, but I do not know her name," the man replied. "She, too, wished to learn of Zena, and some others. She seemed friendly, though I do not think she is one of us."

  "Veeta," Borg answered grimly. "Her name is Veeta, and I do not trust her. I believe she wishes to harm Zena, and that is why I look for Zena, to warn her." The others listened intently as he described his encounter with Veeta and the boy, Nordal.

  "I can tell you how to find the young Zena," Borg continued. "I traveled with her tribe for many moons and I know where they settled."

  He picked up a stick and made marks on the ground, to show the river and other landmarks, and to indicate the direction they should go to find Zena and the others.

  "I would travel with you to show you the way, but I wish to go fast," he concluded. "I must find Zena and her tribe before the woman Veeta finds them."

  The woman who had responded when Borg spoke Zena's name came to sit beside him. The fear had left her eyes, and now they shone with calm confidence. She must be the wise one for the tribe, Borg thought. So often the wise one's eyes looked like that.

  "To know where the next Zena stays is enough," she replied. "For that we are grateful. Now, we can find her ourselves, and we can tell all the other Mother People we pass where she is, so all of them know where to go."

  "They all wish to find Zena?" Borg was startled.

  The woman nodded. "That is so. We are not certain why it should be, only that it is the will of the Goddess."

  "I will tell this to Zena," Borg answered. "She will understand better than I."

  The ways of the Mother People were deeper than most, he reflected, as he lay down to sleep by the warm fire. Perhaps one day he would understand.

  He slept long and deeply, but as soon as he could see, he set out again. There was an even stronger sense of urgency in him now, though he was not sure of its cause.

  By evening, he had reached the river. Fortunately, he was able to leap across on pieces of ice. They were breaking up, but almost to his surprise, they held his weight. He did not want to think what would have happened if they had not.

  It was on the other side of the river that his problems became more serious. The snow stopped late the next day, but then an icy rain began to fall. It was worse than the snow because it drenched him immediately. Soon, he began to shiver uncontrollably. An overhanging ledge tempted him. At least there, the rain would not drive into his face. Perhaps he could get a fire going, to warm him.

  He had bent down to start the fire when the mountain lion struck. Alerted by a small sound above him, Borg spun his body sideways. It was enough to spoil the animal's aim, but not enough to escape the tearing claws against his shoulder. The cougar lunged again and grabbed his arm in its jaws. Slowly, it pressed its muscular body against Borg and forced him to the ground. Borg saw the yellow eyes staring into his face, the claws moving to tear at his stomach, and reached desperately for his knife. He had laid it on the ground so he could use two hands to start the fire. His groping fingers touched something cold - not the knife but his axe. Could he use it? He had no choice.

  Grabbing the axe, he raised it in the air and then brought it down on the cougar's back. The huge cat wrenched away from the blow, snarling now, and crouched to spring again. Borg staggered to his feet, watching the animal carefully. There was no blood on its back where his blow had landed. His eyes shifted to the axe. He had hit it with the blun
t end, not the sharpened side. In the instant before the cougar struck again, he turned the axe. The impact of the heavy body knocked Borg onto his back again; as he fell, he swung once more. This time, the blade hit. The cougar screamed in pain and leaped away from him. It retreated a few steps, watching him warily. Still on his back, Borg swung the axe back and forth, screaming as loudly as he could, then he hauled himself painfully to his feet. The cougar's eyes never left his face as it crouched to spring again. Still screaming, Borg raised the axe with two hands and brought it down on the ground. The animal made an abrupt movement; then it turned and slowly retreated.

  Borg watched, stunned into silence. The cougar was leaving. Still, it could come back. He did not think he had hurt it badly, only enough to make it wonder if killing him was worth the struggle. Once it had licked its wounds, it could return.

  He must get away fast. He staggered off, holding himself as upright as he could, despite the pain. That had been his mistake before, to bend over - especially under a ledge where mountain lions might lurk. They instinctively attacked any creature that was bent over to resemble their four-legged prey. He would not do that again.

  Blood dripped from his shoulder, his arm. Against the sodden ground it was almost invisible, but Borg knew it must be there, from the terrible weakness he felt. Still, he dared not stop to examine his wounds or try to stanch the bleeding. He had not even dared to crouch down and look for his knife, his flint, any of his other tools. All he had was his axe, still clutched in his hand.

  How far could he go before he collapsed? And where was he? He tried to look for familiar signs, knowing he could not be far from the place where Zena’s tribe had stopped, but his thoughts quickly became more and more random and disconnected. He was cold, he knew that, but he had trouble remembering anything else, about where he was going and why. He knew only that he had to keep walking for as long as he could. He remembered the cougar, though. Would it kill him, or would it be the cold, or perhaps his wounds? It did not seem to matter. All that mattered was keeping him body upright, in case the cougar was following. To do that, he had to watch the ground carefully, so he would not fall.