Still, she listened carefully in case the Mother should send another message. Each day when she awoke, each night before sleep, she lay quietly in the shelter and held her mind ready. Often, she clasped one of the figures in her hand as she waited. These moments were precious to her, whether or not a message came. She loved to lie there anyway, hearing the slow, steady breathing of the others as they slept, watching the moon or the morning sun filter through the branches above her, just as the pictures the Mother sent filtered into her thoughts.
Tonight, no pictures emerged. But she was content, for all was well with her tribe. Cere lay beside her, one arm curled protectively around Zena. Kalar was pleased, for Mina's spirit and for Cere, who loved Zena as her own.
The name suited the child, she reflected, glad now that she had chosen it. Zena meant remarkable woman, one who would lead, and Kalar was certain that would one day be true. It was an old word, and no one could remember its origin, but her grandmother had told her she thought it came from a long-ago ancestor who had served the Mother well.
One of the infants squealed, the sound loud and abrupt in the still air. Its mother held it close to her breast, and stillness fell again. Abruptly, as if on a prearranged signal, the cicadas and frogs began their nightly chorus. The whirring calls rose and fell and rose again, lulling Kalar into sleep. Other sounds broke their rhythm as the darkness deepened; a lion roared from the hillside, and hyenas began to bark. The herd of wildebeest across the river shuffled uneasily.
Kalar yawned. They were safe in the shelter. Constructed of thick rows of branches from the thorn trees that grew nearby, it was almost impenetrable. The walls rose as high as their shoulders, and a low fire in the hearth guarded the entrance. No animal would try to get in, for the thorns were sharp, the smell of people strong.
It was a good shelter, and she did not want to leave it, but the time had almost come. Always, she led the tribe south to the lake just before the rainy season. Nuts and fruits were already ripening on the big trees that grew there, fish and frogs would soon leap through the water, birds would lay their eggs in the rushes. But when the dry season came again, they would return to the river, to the thick shelter and the circle of stones she loved the best.
Kalar's eyes closed, and at just that moment, a picture came into her mind. She saw an animal, small and like a rat, except that it had a pouch on its belly where its young sought refuge. Why should the Mother send her this creature, one that she had seen only once before?
She shook her head, unable to think what the picture could mean. She would describe the animal to Zena tomorrow. Already, the child knew more than any other. Perhaps she would have an answer.
CHAPTER TEN
The acrid smell of smoke stung Zena's nostrils. She sat up abruptly. The others were still sleeping. In the dim light, they were little more than indistinguishable bundles huddled against the earthen floor of the shelter.
She stared toward the hill where lightning had struck the night before. Fires at this time of the year were not unusual. As the rainy season approached, clouds gathered each afternoon and covered the sky in thick gray layers. But for many weeks, no rain fell from them. All they generated were ominous rumbles, and heat lightning that struck savagely at the baking earth and bone-dry grasses. Usually the fires that resulted died out during the night, when the wind dropped. But this time, the fire was still burning fiercely.
Zena reached out and touched Cere, to awaken her. Cere sat immediately, alert as always to Zena's slightest movement. Their eyes met briefly, then Cere turned to scan the group. The sun had just broken free of the horizon and she noticed what Zena had been unable to see. Kalar was missing, and Lett. She pointed to their empty places, mouthing their names quietly.
Just at that moment, shouts pierced the stultifying air. Leaping to her feet, Zena ran toward the sounds. Bran, Kalar's son, and Agar, another adult male, followed.
Lett and Kalar emerged from the crest of a hill to the north of the clearing. The fire burned behind them, outlining them in scarlet. They were dragging something, struggling with its weight. When Zena reached them, she saw that it was an antelope. How had they managed to capture such a prize? The tribe hardly ever found more than bones or scraps left by predators, but this was a whole animal. She grabbed a leg and pulled, eager to get the antelope back to the clearing before a lion or tiger came to claim it.
Thick smoke swirled suddenly around their faces, covering them with a thin layer of soot. Kalar turned to study the shifting blaze. Zena watched her anxiously. At eight years, she was old enough to understand the wise woman's dilemma. Soon Kalar would lead the tribe south to the lake. But if the wind changed or the fire continued to spread, it could cut across their path.
Fires were strange, Zena thought. They were welcomed in many ways, yet feared in others. A smoldering stick found in the woods after lightning had struck lit the hearth fires that kept the tribe warm, and frightened predators away at night. Whenever their fire went out, they hoped for lightning, so they could find another burning stick. Fires brought abundance, too. Tender new shoots poked through the revitalized earth where they had burned, and the next year berries proliferated on the bushes. But when they burned out of control, fires were menacing. She had seen animals fleeing in panic before them, and one of their group had been killed when he was not quick enough to escape a change in the wind. He had not burned, but had died when fire had encircled his hiding place among the rocks. Perhaps that was what had happened to the antelope.
Zena shuddered. What if the fire came here, and trapped all of them? The winds were unpredictable this time of year. It would be better to leave soon, not take any chances.
Kalar's words confirmed her thoughts. "We must get ready," she told the others. "It is time to leave. Tonight, we feast, and thank the Mother; when the light comes, we go."
No further instructions were necessary. Each member of the tribe knew what he or she had to do, and they set about their tasks without hesitation. They must fill the baskets they had made of reeds and vines with food - melons and tubers, and any nuts and firm fruit they could find. There were gourds - or ostrich eggs, if any were left - to be filled with water. And this year, they had the antelope to consider. It would have to be butchered and cut into small pieces, so they could take at least some of the meat that was not consumed tonight.
Zena was glad they would not leave until morning. She loved the times when they gathered around the hearth fire to feast on an unusual treat like the antelope. First, of course, they thanked the Mother for Her special gift. Then the story of the animal's capture was told over and over again as they savored its succulent flesh. Often, Zena ended up telling the tale, for she had more words than the others. Once those who had found the animal had made the event clear with gestures and actions and a few words, she elaborated, and taught the new words as she spoke. The young ones picked them up quickly, as did Kalar. The others were slower.
Lett had already begun to make some new flints so they could cut up the antelope. Patiently, he grasped a stone in one hand and chopped at it with another. Sparks shot out, and small chips flew in every direction. Sima, Nyta's four-year-old daughter, picked up one of the sharp chips and screamed as it cut her hand. Nyta came running, but Lett paid no attention; he did not look up from his work until he had forged three sharp cutting stones. He handed one to Cere, another to Bran, so they could help him cut the meat. Slitting the antelope's belly from tail to chin, he stripped the pelt from the carcass and tossed it aside. Later, he would take it to the river and scrape it clean.
The children stood around him, chattering excitedly. As soon as Cere and Bran began to cut the meat, their small hands flashed out to grab chunks. Zena grabbed some, too, then she picked up the discarded pelt to help Lett by carrying it to the river. She held it against her cheek for a moment. It felt soft and supple, even though it smelled of smoke.
Suddenly the picture Kalar had described to her a few days before, the one that had come from the
Mother, appeared in her mind. She saw the small animal, with its soft brown fur, its little one peeking from the pocket on its belly, just as if it were there in front of her.
Zena held the pelt against her body, frowning deeply. As she stood there, Nyta came to the river to wash some chunks of antelope flesh that had fallen into the hot ashes. She laid the infant she had recently borne beside her. Suddenly deprived of the warmth of her body, it began to wail. Nyta grimaced and picked it up again, to suckle it for a moment. But as soon as she put it down, the wailing resumed.
Zena looked at Nyta, then at the infant, then at the pelt. Back and forth her eyes went, considering. A dreamy look came over her face as she pictured the small animal once again. Abruptly, determination replaced her abstraction. She spread the pelt on the ground, then she ran over to Lett to ask him for a scraping stone.
He gestured toward his place in the sleeping area, where he kept a supply. Zena took one and set eagerly to work. Sima came to help. Her skinny arms moved back and forth with surprising strength, and soon all the flesh was gone. Zena dunked the skin in the river, rubbing it vigorously against the rough sand, then stretched it out to dry in the hot sun.
The pelt dried quickly. Sima watched curiously as Zena cut a long strip, wider in the middle, from one edge of the hide. She tied the ends together in firm knots, then she placed the strip over her shoulder and across her belly. It was too long; the sling came down to her knees. Patiently, she undid the knot and shortened it. Then she asked Nyta to stand and arranged the pelt around her shoulder and chest.
Nyta was puzzled, but she submitted good-naturedly to the procedure. She began to object when Zena took the infant from her and placed it inside the loop of pelt at her chest. Then her eyes lit up in wonderment as she suddenly understood. The baby was slung tightly across her chest, where it could easily reach her nipple. But both of her hands were free! She could pluck berries from bushes, dig for tubers, reach for fruit high in trees, wash food - all without putting the infant down. She could not believe what Zena had accomplished, and she danced around and around in a circle, hooting with glee.
Her hoots brought the others running. Eyes wide with amazement, they gathered around Nyta to examine the device. Zena paid little attention to the chorus of appreciation. The sling was not very secure, and the knot was clumsy. She had been in too much of a hurry. The next strip was wider in the middle, more tapered at the ends, so it tied better. Cere and Tempa, a young female who had joined the tribe a few years ago, vied for a chance to try it, but Zena could make only one more of the devices from the pelt, so they took turns.
A small piece of usable hide was left. Zena cut it carefully like the others, except smaller, and tied it around Sima's shoulder. The child stood up straight and tall, carrying her small sling proudly. It was she who found Kalar, to show her. Kalar's eyes went straight to Zena's face when she saw it. She shook her head, bemused. So that was what the Mother had been trying to tell her. But it had taken Zena's special intelligence to make it happen. Surely, she thought, the Mother's ways and Zena's gifts were a wondrous combination.
Her face grew serious as she realized what a difference Zena's device would make in their lives. Now, early birth would no longer be such a problem. Mothers could keep their babies close against their hearts, even suckle them, while they gathered food, or drank. They would be able to carry food too.
The thought of food-carrying brought mischief into her eyes, and she grinned. Zena had found a way to carry infants; perhaps she could find a way to carry flesh. They would feast on the antelope tonight, but much would still be left. They dared not linger another day to eat more, lest the fires trap them. Still, it seemed a shame to waste the Mother's bounty.
"Carry antelope?" she questioned, pointing to the carcass, and then to the sling Zena had made. Her eyes were merry, for she did not really expect Zena to take the question seriously. Meat rotted too fast, anyway, and only attracted predators.
But Zena took her very seriously indeed. She considered the problem, her head tilted to one side, her lips compressed. Bran and Agar started to laugh at her thoughtful expression. Zena stamped her foot in frustration. The two men always laughed when she tried something new.
Cere came to her rescue and barked sharply at Bran and Agar.
"Get fruit," she told them sharply, knowing they were the best at climbing to the high branches where fruit still lingered. They ambled away, still grinning. Then she came close to Zena and patted her on the shoulder.
Zena smiled gratefully, but she was still distracted by Kalar's question. She had noticed before that when the flesh of animals fell into the ashes and stayed there for a long time, it became smaller and lost all moisture. Once, she had taken such a piece with her when they traveled, and chewed on it slowly as they walked. It had been tough, but the taste was good, and it had suppressed her hunger. It had not become rotten, either, for many days.
Lett had pulled most of the flesh from the antelope's body and was cutting it into chunks. Later, they would put them on sticks and roast them in the fire. Zena asked for a slab and cut it into long, thin strips. She pushed them into the hot ashes with a stick, then she went to a place where the vines were especially thick and supple. Cutting off long pieces, she constructed a loosely woven basket. She wove one piece over another, as they always did, but she made the basket very big, and she left two long strands that could be tied over her shoulder.
In the morning, before they left, she pulled out the pieces of dried meat and washed them carefully in the river. Frowning seriously, she handed one to each of the others to put into their baskets. The remainder she placed in the bigger basket she had made and slung it over her shoulder.
Kalar shook her head in astonishment. She was not sure they would be able to chew such stringy pieces of meat, but the child really had tried to answer her question!
Bran and Agar, however, looked at Zena suspiciously. They did not understand at all. Why did she want them to carry such a shrunken piece of flesh? They poked her, wanting an answer.
Zena refused to explain. Instead, she stuck out her tongue at them and stalked away.
Nyta and Tempa giggled at the males' discomfiture. Soon the whole group was laughing, not at the men, but at Sima and Lupe, Pote's small son. Pote had died soon after her son's birth, but Nyta and Tempa had suckled Lupe and he had lived. The two children were swinging the long pieces of dried flesh wildly through the air, throwing them up and catching them again before they landed on the ground. Then Lupe struck one in the corner of his mouth and began to strut around, twirling it with his teeth. Dorn, Tempa's son, who had been born the same year as Lupe, imitated him. Even Zena began to laugh, her good feelings restored.
Abruptly, the merriment stopped. Kalar was ahead, leading them along their usual route. They saw her stop and hold up her hand. The fire had died down during the night, but it had not gone out. Now, as Kalar had feared, it was burning slowly into the wide plain they habitually traversed to reach a swamp, where there was almost always water to refresh them after the dry, hot crossing. They might be able to get across before the fire reached them - but if the wind strengthened, they could be trapped.
Kalar made up her mind. They could not risk it. Instead, she would lead them south along the river. The first part of the track she knew well, for a group like themselves lived a day's journey away. The two tribes interacted often, to mate, or when Kalar helped their women in childbirth. Beyond that point, the way was unfamiliar and more dangerous. Predators could lurk in the thick brush, and both elephants and rhinoceros were attracted to the thorny bushes and tall trees that grew in wide swaths near the river. Elephants could usually be avoided since they made so much noise, but rhinos could lurk unseen in the bushes and charge at anything that came too close.
Another problem worried Kalar even more than the bad-tempered rhinos. Along the river were scattered groups of small-headed creatures they called Big Ones. Her grandmother had told her that they were like people long
ago, but the Big Ones had never changed, as others had. Like themselves, Big Ones walked on two legs, but in other ways they were very different. They did not speak at all, but only grunted. The females were no larger than themselves, but the males were huge, with thick, strong bodies and massive jaws. Kalar had always avoided them, unwilling to provoke a challenge by intruding on their territory. As far as she knew, the Big Ones had never caused any harm, but never before had she attempted to walk through the areas where they lived. Now, she had no choice.
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Zena was delighted with the change of plan. She loved exploring new places, and she had no fear of Big Ones. The area around the shelter, or even the variety of places where the tribe searched for food, had never satisfied her boundless curiosity, and she often wandered far from their usual haunts. Only Cere had joined her in these adventurous forays. She had followed patiently, interfering only to keep Zena from hurting herself, for she knew it was impossible to stop her from looking behind every bush, into every hole in the ground or nest in a tree, from exploring every hill and valley. Still, she never let the child get out of sight. Zena was more important to her than any other, even the young one she had recently borne. The Mother Herself had trusted her to care for Zena and keep her safe.
One day, Zena had come across a group of Big Ones who lived a few hours north along the river. After that, she had visited them often. She had few playmates, since so many infants had died in those years, but there were many her age among the Big Ones. She liked the strange youngsters. They never answered when she spoke to them, but that did not deter her from showing them everything she noticed - a butterfly, a baby gazelle leaping after its mother on spindly legs, the shape of an animal in the clouds. They followed her pointing finger or excited gestures with their eyes, and listened intently as she gave words to her discoveries. But they never responded in the same way.
CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) Page 14
