CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  Lett screamed into the clamor. "Go to the trees," he shouted. "Into the trees, fast!" But his voice was lost in the thunderous pounding of hoofs.

  Kalar whirled and sprinted for the shelter. The massive body of animals, so large it covered almost the entire plain, was stampeding. The ground shook beneath her feet, and the noise was overwhelming. She did not think the others could possibly have heard Lett's warning. But even if they had, there would barely be time to get to the trees. Wildebeests ran like the wind when they were frightened. And they would trample everything, everyone, in their path. Nothing stopped them, not water, not a thick barrier of thorns. Only the big trees on either side of the clearing might deter them. They would be funneled between the trees, through the clearing, through the shelter...

  She ran faster. The first animals would be upon them in moments. The river would not even slow them down; it was shallow at this time of the year, and not very wide.

  "The trees," she screamed, as she saw Nyta hesitating in the middle of the clearing, uncertain where to go. Nyta sprinted for the woods with her infant, pulling Sima behind. But the child was paralyzed with fright, and dropped to the ground. Kalar saw Zena grab her hand and drag her toward a big tree. She shoved her into the arms of the strange male and scrambled up the tree. He pushed the child into Zena's arms and climbed up himself.

  Good, Kalar thought. Zena is safe,. but she kept going, for she had not seen Cere, or any of the others. The dust was so thick it was hard to see anything, or even breathe.

  She looked up again, toward the shelter. There was movement in it, she was sure of it. The others must still be huddled there, believing they were safe. She must warn them, get them out.

  The wildebeests had started to cross. She could hear the splashes, the roars and bellows and screams as smaller animals were trampled by bigger ones. They had gone into a frenzy of panic; they knew nothing except that they were running. They would run and run even if they killed each other, even if they killed themselves. Kalar could feel their panic in her bones.

  Lett passed her, breathing hard. Had he, too, seen movement in the shelter? Kalar tried to catch him, to send him into the trees, while there was still time, but the breath had gone from her body, and she could not make her legs go any faster. She staggered and almost fell.

  Suddenly she saw another figure, sprinting toward her from the edge of the woods. It was Cere, searching the clearing before her with frantic eyes.

  "No," Kalar screamed. "No! Go back! Zena is safe!" But Cere did not hear. She ran on, her face transfigured with fear.

  A roiling cloud of dust enveloped Kalar. The wildebeests were right behind her; she could feel the thuds in the earth, hear the hot breath of the panting animals. It was too late... She knew it was too late.

  In the instant before the huge beasts reached her, she looked up and saw Lett near the edge of the clearing. A child was tucked under each of his arms.

  He had gone to rescue the others before he ran himself. Kalar knew that wordlessly, and so he would die, and the little ones with him, for the wildebeests were almost upon him too. Their horns were lowered, and their eyes gleamed red with panic. She saw Lett throw one of the children toward the trees, and then he disappeared beneath the thrashing hoofs.

  Kalar closed her eyes. Lett; they had killed Lett. He had been her mate so many times, and she had loved him... Always, it was Lett she could count on to give advice, to soothe her. More than any other, he had understood how hard it could be to speak for the Mother, to know Her ways -

  She felt the first hoof crash into her back. Kalar bent low to the dusty earth, seeking its embrace, and called out to the Mother. She did not know if she said words, but her message was clear in her mind.

  It is to Zena I entrust my place. It is Zena who will hear Your messages. Zena will hear if You give her time... Spare her, Great Mother, so she can grow to be the one who speaks for You.

  Then the hoofs passed across her body and broke it, and she ceased to know at all.

  High in the tree, Zena felt an uncontrollable tremor pass through her body. She shook her head, bewildered, and then she began to cry in huge, wrenching sobs. She did not know why she wept so suddenly, except that she was frightened, but she could not make herself stop. She wept and wept, as the wildebeests crashed below her, and neither Sima nor Lotan could comfort her.

  Finally, the wracking sobs diminished. Zena leaned her head against a branch in exhaustion. She lacked the strength to cry any longer, but the agony that had unleashed her tears remained stubbornly lodged in her belly. There was a terrible feeling inside her, as if she had done something wrong, but she did not know what it was.

  And then she remembered, so suddenly that her whole body stiffened in horror, and she almost lost her grip on the tree. This was the picture she had seen. It was the Mother's picture.

  She gasped, struggling to breathe. The Mother had tried to warn her, but she had not listened. Kalar - she had seen Kalar running, but then she had pushed the vision away, and now there was no way to know what had happened, if she could have helped. Why, why had she not listened to the Mother?

  Zena pounded her fists against the tree, desperate with fear and guilt. Were they all dead? Was that she had such a terrible, sick feeling in her belly?

  She did not know, could not tell. She could see nothing but the furry backs of animals, writhing and seething below her. Billowing clouds of thick dust, colorless in the fading light, obscured everything else - the clearing, the trees, even the sky. She could not hear either. All other sounds were lost beneath the overwhelming rush of pounding hoofs, the brutal bellowing, the dreadful screams as fallen animals were trampled, the thick sound of gasping breath as the wildebeests ran and ran and ran.

  For hours they passed. Wave after wave of them surged across the river, through the clearing. Some, blinded by dust, charged into the woods. Trees shook and branches fell. They swerved in a body, to find their way out again, leaving a trail of devastation behind them. Others crashed drunkenly into the shelter. The high wall of thorns stopped the first animals that hit it; they fell to their knees, their bones shattered and their skin lacerated. Their fellows kept on going, using the fallen animals as a bridge to go up and over the formidable barrier. Screams filled the air, closer now, and Zena could not tell if they came from the wildebeests or from her tribe-mates. She pulled Sima's head close against her chest to drown out the terrible noises.

  Darkness descended, and the sounds began to diminish. Slowly, the pounding of hoofs, the bellows, became more distant, and the dust settled. Then there was only silence.

  Lotan touched Zena's shoulder gently, and pointed to the ground. But now she could not bear to go down. She did not fear the wildebeests; they had spent their passion. She feared what she would find. The branch that supported her seemed infinitely comforting in contrast to the horrors that might await her below. She clung to it doggedly, and would not move.

  All night, she stayed there, desperate with uncertainty and fear. At intervals, she called out to the others. Once, she thought she heard an answer, but she could not be sure.

  When the light came again, she forced herself to move. Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered herself from the tree and ventured into the clearing. Lotan and Sima followed. The child was weeping quietly.

  Zena tripped over a body and knelt to look, but she rose again quickly. Once, it had been Lett. She had loved him dearly. In his quiet way, he had helped them almost as much as Kalar. By his side lay a shapeless bundle. It was one of the children, she thought, but it was hard to tell. Its head had been trampled. Another small form was sprawled near the trees. Zena did not stop to examine it.

  A warm nose nuzzled her hand. Zena jumped and whirled around. It was Three-Legs! She must have run away, terrified by the commotion. She hugged the little gazelle briefly, and then went on. She was glad Three-Legs had not been trampled, but it was the others she wanted most.

  She came to the remains of the shelter. It was nothing more t
han a bundle of flattened sticks, covered with the bodies of wildebeests. A few still struggled. Arms and legs stuck up through the carnage - arms and legs that did not belong to the wildebeests. None of them moved. Zena looked at them almost dispassionately, and wandered away.

  A wildebeest calf rose on wobbly knees, bleating piteously, and stumbled off toward the burned hillside. Zena paid no attention. She walked slowly into the clearing as if she were not there at all. None of this seemed possible. Last night, they had sat together, talking, and now there was nothing.

  Cere, she thought suddenly. Surely Cere had escaped. She must have heard Kalar's warning, must have known she should go to the trees. She had been standing near Nyta, and Nyta had run for the trees. Bran had been there, too; she was sure he had.

  As if reflecting her thoughts, a cry suddenly came from the edge of the woods on the far side of the clearing. It was Bran calling, and Lupe was behind him. Bran had recently become Lupe's hero, and he followed him everywhere. He must have followed him last night too; his devotion had saved his life.

  Zena ran to them, rejoicing. If they were alive, Cere and Nyta must have escaped too. She looked eagerly into the woods behind them, but no one else emerged. The hope that had been in her heart sank heavily, and she broke away from Bran's warm hug.

  Lotan called sharply from the trees. She ran to him, hope flaring again. He pointed to the ground. Nyta lay there, the infant in her arms. No sound came from the baby, usually so lusty and demanding, but Nyta's eyes were open. Tears squeezed from them when she saw Zena's face. She tried to get up, but dizziness swamped her, and she fell back, moaning.

  Zena knelt beside her anxiously and started to examine the wound on her head. Nyta pulled her hands away and gestured towards the infant. Zena took it from her, and knew immediately that the baby was dead. Its tiny body was cold, already stiff.

  "He has gone back to the Mother," she told Nyta gently, as she placed the infant beside her.

  Nyta turned her face away, and made no further effort to rise. But then Sima saw her mother. She burst into loud and happy weeping, and flung herself against Nyta. Zena left them there together and went toward the clearing again. She had to find Cere, Cere and Kalar. Theirs were the faces she most wanted to see.

  A vulture flapped noisily over her head, as if to land beside her. Zena waved her arms and shouted. It rose again and perched clumsily in a tree. Its eyes were fixed on the ground near her feet. Against her will, for she was terrified she would find something she did not want to see, Zena looked down.

  It was Cere. Zena knew her immediately, though she could identify her only by her hands, the long-fingered, nimble hands that had made such perfect baskets. The rest of her had been trampled beyond recognition. Why? Why had she not run for the trees?

  Zena pushed her fists hard against her eyes to stop the tears, to stop herself from looking at anything else. She did not want to see, did not want to know. She wanted only to be left alone, to be taken from this place of horror, to run away, not to look for more of the ones she loved, especially not for Kalar.

  Kalar was dead. She knew that. Kalar had to be dead, because she would have tried to save the others before going to the trees. Kalar was near here too. Zena could sense her presence, even in death. But she did not want to see.

  She looked up at the sky. It was brilliantly blue, cloudless, as if nothing had happened. But the vultures knew. They soared in lazy circles, awaiting her departure. Zena kept her eyes fastened on them so she would not have to look down as she wandered on.

  But when she came to the place where Kalar had died, Zena looked down anyway, compelled by a sense that the wise woman's face might tell her something, might give a reason why these terrible things had happened. And she was right. Kalar's face was buried in the earth, and when Zena turned it over, it was almost intact. Her eyes were closed, and her face wore an expression of reverence, as if the last thing she had done was speak to the Mother.

  Anger suffused Zena, unexpected, boiling anger. It overwhelmed her, filled every part of her. Nothing was left inside her but anger. She jumped up and stormed around the clearing, picking up everything she could find, bits of tools and baskets, smashed now beyond recognition, pieces of wood from the fire, from the shelter, and flinging them wildly into the air. When she had thrown every object within reach, she pounded the earth with a rock, and screamed at the sky.

  "No," she screamed. "You cannot have her. You cannot have any of them. You are Mother, the Mother we trusted, and this is what You have done. No! No, no, no!"

  She screamed until her voice was hoarse, then flung herself against the ground and wept. Her body shook with anguished sobs. But just as abruptly as they had started, the sobs stopped, and she sat up, a stubborn expression on her face.

  "No," she muttered again angrily, between her teeth. "This cannot be. You are Life-Giver. Kalar loved You. We all loved You. No. You cannot do this. It must be changed."

  She waited, fists clenched, as if she expected that at any moment the clearing would be as it had always been before: Kalar would appear, and so would Cere, and Lett would be there, and all the others. The sound of their voices would come, and the babies would wail again.

  Zena whirled. A baby was crying. She heard it clearly, just for a moment. But she couldn't have heard it. They were all dead; she would have heard an infant before now if any were still alive.

  She ran in the direction of the sound. It had come from the shelter, from somewhere beneath the horrible battered bodies, the broken limbs and mangled flesh, the blood and bone and bits of wildebeests and people that littered the trampled ground in unimaginable mixtures. She began to paw through the refuse, but bile rose in her throat, and she had to stop. No further sound had come, anyway, and she thought she had only imagined the cry, as in a dream. But Lotan and Bran were there, too, searching frantically beneath the bloody piles.

  It was Lupe who found the infant. Less horrified by the litter than the others, for he was too young to understand fully, he dug without inhibition beneath a battered carcass. He felt something move and pulled it out. Zena ran to him and grabbed the tiny female.

  Filar! It was Filar, Cere's infant. Sobs constricted Zena's throat as the infant nestled at her neck. She swallowed them determinedly. Perhaps the Mother had helped a little, by giving her Cere's child, but She had still killed Cere herself, and Kalar, too, and most of the others.

  Miraculously, Filar seemed unhurt. But she was terribly hungry, and once she felt herself free of the body that had saved her life even as it pinned her to the ground and made breathing difficult, screaming nearly impossible, she took a deep breath and yelled. The sound roused even Nyta, who came hobbling out of the woods. She had twisted her ankle when the wildebeests had knocked her from the tree, as well as hitting her head.

  She looked gravely at the screaming infant. It was not hers, but she would gladly feed it. Her breasts were painful with unused milk, anyway. The little one could take it.

  Zena went back to the place where Lupe had found Filar. She felt compelled to know who had saved the baby with her body. But when she looked more carefully, it was hard to tell. She thought it might have been Tempa, or maybe Agar. Perhaps Cere had handed the infant to one of them and then tried to come back to retrieve it.

  She would never know now, but Zena knew she would always wonder. The knowledge that she had been more important to Cere than any other lay heavily within her. Always there would linger in her heart the terrible thought that Cere had been looking for her, not the infant, that she had not seen her reach the trees, and had come to find her beloved Zena. Instead, she had found a cruel, unnecessary death.

  Zena's anger hardened, obliterating all other feelings, even her guilt because she had refused to listen when the Mother had tried to warn her. Her tears dried with her anger; after that day, she did not weep, or even mourn. There was no room inside her for anything but rage at the Mother for allowing those who loved Her to die such horrible deaths. The anger churn
ed deep and strong within her as she and the other survivors traveled far from the verdant clearing by the river that had sheltered them so many times. Overnight, their peaceful refuge had become place of terror and death, of mangled bodies and the smell of rot.

  She would never return, Zena vowed, never think of this place again, of the horrors that had happened here, or even of the loved ones she had lost. Especially, she would not think again of the Mother. The Mother had betrayed her, had betrayed all of them, and that she would never forgive.

  *********************

  The vultures descended, the hyenas and wild dogs came, and a lioness that passed by fed herself and her cubs. Other predators joined her, drawn by the scent. For once, they did not have to fight for a chance to gorge on the carcasses. There was plenty for all. When they had finished, smaller animals gnawed the bones, and hordes of insects cleaned them. And after that came heat and dryness, and fires, and finally the rains. Brief, savage storms sent the river seething over its banks, depositing silt and debris that further erased the signs of destruction. Soon, all that was left to mark the place where Kalar and her tribe had lived was the blessed circle of stones in the secluded glen beyond the clearing, where Zena had been plucked from the belly of her mother.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Two months earlier, Lotan had sat quietly beside his mother, Ralak, and watched her face harden with worry as the hours passed. The men had left before the sun had come over the horizon, to look for the carcass of a zebra one of the women had spotted the day before. Now night had almost fallen, and still they had not returned.

  Ralak rose to gather more of the pungent twigs she had put on the fire so the men would smell it from afar. She handed the infant to Lotan, to free her hands for the task. He accepted the baby gladly. Her funny smell and the cooing sounds she made amused him. He tried to elicit a few noises by jiggling her gently, but she was sleeping soundly and did not respond. He contented himself with watching her eyelids flutter and her tiny mouth purse up as if she were sucking.