CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

by LAMBERT, JOAN DAHR

  Clio was delighted at his return. She reached out to touch the lion's soft fur. Startled, the lion backed away. Hunting involved chasing, but this small animal did not run. Instead, it lay on the ground and batted at him like one of his littermates. It smelled like them too. The lion batted back, wanting to play. This time, Clio was startled. The padded paw was soft, but very powerful. She was not sure she wanted to feel it again, and she was certain she did not want the lion to come any closer. She lay perfectly still, as she had the night before, seeming not even to breathe.

  Tentatively, the lion batted again. The heavy paw struck a glancing blow on Clio's shoulder, but she did not move. Twice again, the lion struck at her, but still there was no response. Bored by the game, he yawned and ambled away. Clio did not stir until he was out of sight. Then she opened her mouth wide, as the lion had done. The rows of sharp teeth and the long red tongue had impressed her. She poked a finger into her mouth, to feel her own teeth, and stuck out her tongue, trying to see it. But it was too short and her efforts were unsuccessful.

  A sparkle of water in a nearby stream distracted her, and the lion disappeared from her mind. She wriggled over to it, liking the feel of soft, damp ground on her belly, and crawled into the shallows to drink. The water was cold against her skin, and she jumped up abruptly. Her feet splashed as she jumped; delighted with the sound, she began to run noisily downstream. For almost an hour, she skipped and cavorted through the water.

  A mossy glen attracted her attention, and she left the stream to investigate its smooth green carpet. A few nuts were scattered on the velvety surface, reminding her that she was hungry. She popped them into her mouth, but they were too hard to chew, and she spat them out again. She whimpered and looked around expectantly. Always before, someone had come to help her with nuts. But no one was there. She snuggled into the soft moss and curled herself into a tight ball to wait.

  Something rustled in the bushes in front of her. Clio's eyes opened but she did not move. A large bird came into view and settled itself atop its nest, ruffling its feathers carefully to cover all the eggs. Then it sat perfectly still, its brown-streaked body invisible against the bushes.

  Clio frowned. The bird had disappeared even as she watched. Perplexed, she jumped up to investigate. At her approach, the bird shot from the nest with a loud whirring noise, leaving a clutch of speckled eggs. Clio put one of them in her mouth and clamped her teeth down hard. Yolk shot out and dribbled down her chin. She slurped it up again and swallowed, pushing the bits of shell aside with her tongue, then spitting them out. She ate another egg, then lay down to sleep. Content in the protected, shady greenness, she lay quietly all afternoon and through the night, moving only to eat another egg and to drink. When the light came again, she rose and wandered off.

  Now her movements were random, without purpose. Something was missing that she needed to have, though she was not sure what it was. But when she saw a pair of legs striding through a field in front of her, she knew immediately that they were what she wanted. They were not exactly the right legs, so she followed from a distance instead of running up to them. A child of the woods, Clio moved as quietly as the smallest animal, and the creature above the legs did not suspect her presence.

  She followed the legs all day, stopping when they stopped, running when she had to, for the legs were twice as long as her own. Just as the light began to fade, the legs came to a full stop and folded against a tree. Now Clio could see the whole creature. His big, hairy body and bristly face were familiar. The matted hair made him seem like an animal, and Clio liked that. Once, though, he had frightened her. She hid behind another tree and stared at him.

  The creature's face disappeared between his hands. He brought his knees up to his chest to support his shaggy head, and his shoulders drooped forward. Clio tilted her head to one side, puzzled. He had never looked like that before. A feeling of sadness emanated from him, and it came into her, erasing her fear. She moved toward him, her hand outstretched, as it had been for the lion. It was a gesture she used often, for it permitted her to touch others, but prevented them from coming too close. Clio hated to be held or fondled or carried, and her extended arm created a barrier that few violated. But her need to make contact on her own terms was strong. She wanted to feel and smell and stare at everything she saw. Especially, she wanted to touch.

  Clio's feet made no noise, and the big male did not look up at her approach. Gently, she placed her fingers on the back of his hand, a touch so light and fleeting he did not notice for a moment. Then he raised his head sharply, and his jaw dropped in astonishment.

  This was the strange little one, Ralak's child. What was she doing here? Were the others here too? Kropor looked around him incredulously. They could not be here. He would have heard them. He did not want them here either. He wanted to be alone.

  He stared at Clio, his eyes hard with indignation. If she was here, the others must have followed him. He sprang to his feet and began to search the area, calling loudly. No one answered, and he saw no tracks or other signs to indicate that the rest of the tribe was nearby. Was it possible she was alone?

  He looked back at the tree. Clio was sitting against the trunk, nibbling at some berries he had dropped.

  "Where are the others?" her asked her. She did not respond. He named them, one at a time, hoping she would grasp his meaning. When he spoke Toro's name, she frowned, and a fleeting look of anxiety crossed her face. Then she began to crawl around the base of the tree, searching for more berries.

  "Food?" Kropor's voice was gruff. If she really was alone this far from the shelter, she must be very hungry.

  Clio knew this word, and she held out her hand as if expecting him to put food in it. But he had no food, only the berries she had already eaten.

  "Wait," he told her. "I find food." He lumbered off toward the stream, where he had found the berries. Before he entered the bushes, he looked back to make sure Clio was waiting. She had vanished.

  Impatiently, he returned to the tree. How had she managed to disappear so quickly? If the child could not stay in one place, he could not get food for her! He scoured the field, becoming ever more irritated. He had never paid much attention to the little ones. They were noisy and demanding, and he had stayed well away from them. But now this one, the one who understood almost nothing, had found him, and he could not simply abandon her. She was too small to be alone, and he had seen lion tracks earlier.

  A soft sound made him whirl in alarm. Clio stood behind him, staring at him with her impenetrable eyes. Had she been behind him all the time? Angry now, he stamped his foot at her. Clio looked at the foot, then at her own small feet, and imitated his movement. She raised one foot and stamped it down, then the other, and then began to leap up and down with both feet at once.

  Despite his anger, Kropor laughed. She looked so funny and determined. Clio looked up, startled at the noise.

  "Come," he told her, beckoning, and this time, he did not let her out of his sight as she pattered lightly behind him toward the stream. There they feasted on the bright yellow berries. Kropor found a few snails, too, and pounded them open with a rock for Clio. She stuffed them into her mouth and chewed with relish.

  Abruptly, her eyelids began to droop. She yawned widely and nestled down among the bushes. Kropor looked at her curiously. She was asleep already, he realized. She had simply curled up on the ground like a little animal and gone to sleep.

  Reluctantly, he knelt and picked her up. He did not want her with him, but he could not leave her here unprotected. He would have to keep her at least until the morning. Perhaps then the others would turn up and take her back with them.

  Clio sagged heavily in his arms. Awake, she could not be carried, for she wriggled so determinedly that she had to be put down. Asleep, her defenses disappeared, and she seemed to welcome the closeness she could not tolerate by day.

  Kropor carried her toward a cluster of boulders he had noticed in the field, and piled grasses between two rocks
to make a soft place where they could sleep. Hunching his shoulders against the evening chill, he sat on one of the boulders to watch while the light remained. Thoughts of Ralak crowded his head. The child reminded him of Ralak. Perhaps it was her diminutive stature, or the blackness of her eyes. But Ralak's eyes had been lively, full of expression. Clio's were inscrutable.

  Kropor sighed resignedly and slid down beside her. At least for tonight, he would watch out for her. Clio snuggled against him trustingly, her body soft and warm against his hard chest. He covered her small form with one of his large, hairy arms, and fell asleep with her breath on his face.

  When he awoke, she was staring at him. He sat up, startled. For a moment, he had thought it was Ralak's face, for he had been dreaming of her. But it was only Clio. Angered anew at her presence, and because she was not Ralak after all, he rose abruptly and began to walk, watching constantly for any sign of the others. Clio followed, unperturbed by his brusque behavior. All that day, he paid scant attention to her, though he did help her to find food. In the evening, she fell asleep as abruptly as she had the night before. Again, Kropor hoisted her into his arms. She felt more familiar this time, and he carried her for some distance, toward some fruiting trees he had seen. They would provide food in the morning. She snuggled close when he lay down beside her, sighing contentedly in her sleep.

  They continued in this way for many days. Each morning, Kropor awoke to find Clio looking down at him, and each time, he thought he saw Ralak. To think Ralak was beside him and then be disappointed brought intense pain, and he became angry with Clio for causing him such agony. She stayed a distance away from him until his anger dissipated, but she never cried or complained. Instead, she seemed content simply to follow him. If she needed his help with food, she ran up to him and tapped his leg, then she let a short distance come between them again. But she never let him out of her sight, and each night, she snuggled in his arms as if she belonged there.

  One morning, Kropor woke first. Clio lay beside him, her round face peaceful in sleep. Thick, dark lashes curved gently against her cheeks, and one of her small hands rested against his belly. He picked it up and looked at it. Clio's eyes opened, and she smiled up at him, a rare, enchanting smile that lit up her face and gave expression to her eyes. Then the long lashes fell again, and she turned away.

  Kropor stared down at the sleeping child. This time, he did not see Ralak. Instead, he heard her. "Keep her safe for me," Ralak was saying. "Keep her safe."

  Tears sprang into Kropor's eyes. He wiped them away angrily. But then his anger vanished, replaced by a feeling of bewildered joy. Ralak had spoken to him; he had heard her, felt her presence. Somehow, she was still there.

  Another thought intruded. Perhaps that was why Clio had come. Perhaps Ralak had sent her, so he could keep some small part of her at least. Could such a thing be? Kropor did not know, did not care. He had heard Ralak again, had felt her near him, and that was enough. His beloved Ralak had not left him completely.

  The dam of anguish that had grown in Kropor's heart ever since Ralak's death suddenly broke. He began to sob, loud, agonizing sobs that resounded in the still air and distorted his face into a terrifying grimace.

  The sobs woke Clio. She sat up and stared, worried by his uncharacteristic behavior. Her small hand touched his face tentatively, then she put her arms around his neck and rubbed her soft cheek against his rough one. Never before had she made such a gesture. And when Kropor drew her close and hugged her, she still did not resist. His agony had reached some unknown place deep inside her, and the need to comfort him had overcome her terror of being held.

  Kropor let her go again quickly, sensing that her tolerance for closeness was almost gone. But he continued to hold her hand, and she did not pull it away. Together, they set off in search of the fruit.

  Days passed, and there was no sign of the others. Kropor ceased to look for them, no longer wanted to find them, lest they take Clio and leave him alone again. Clio had pulled the agony from his heart, and he did not want to lose her. She seemed as attached to him as he was to her, and seldom strayed far from his side. She often held his hand as they walked, and sometimes she even let him carry her for short distances when she was tired or they needed to go faster.

  Another week went by in perfect contentment; then, without warning, Kropor's newfound happiness dissolved. Late one day, the sky darkened so suddenly he thought at first that night had come. But when he saw the massive black clouds that seemed to have sprung up from nowhere, felt grit lash his face as violent winds swirled in all directions, he realized a storm was upon them. Hoisting Clio into his arms, he ran toward a rocky hill where he had spotted a dark hole that could signify a cave. They could shelter there until the storm had passed.

  Clio resisted strongly. She beat at his arms with her fists and kicked against his belly, uttering sharp cries of distress. Kropor set her down, alarmed by the wildness that had come into her eyes. All day long, she had skipped peacefully beside him, but now there was a look of savage excitement on her face, as if she had suddenly been transformed into another creature. She did not seem to know him, or even see him, or anything else around them. Her frenzied gaze was focused on something far beyond, something no one else could see.

  "Clio!" He called her name sharply, hoping to penetrate her wild oblivion. She did not respond, but began to run toward the cliffs ahead. Frightened, he picked her up again and tucked her under one arm, ignoring her screams and the frantic pummeling of her small fists and heels. He sprinted into the cave and gently set her down. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she slid from his restraining hands and charged out onto the rocks. He leaped after her, his heart thumping with fear.

  Rain slashed abruptly into his face, blinding him. Kropor swiped frantically at his eyes, unable to see where Clio had gone. In that instant, she had vanished, as she had vanished when he had first found her. Sobbing now with terror, he ran into the driving storm, straining to locate her shadowy form against the dark cliffs. The light was almost gone, and if he did not find her soon, he might never find her.

  His heart twisted so painfully he doubled over. He could not lose her, could not lose Clio as he had lost Ralak.

  Rocks clattered behind him. He whirled. She was there, on the top of the highest boulder, dancing, leaping, seeing nothing in front of her, behind her. He could tell she did not see, for her eyes were focused inward, on the demon that possessed her. She did not see the precipices on all sides, did not know the rocks were slippery with rain -

  Kropor lunged, but he moved too late. He saw her fall, saw her small body hurtle downward, as if she were flying. She landed on the rocks below and did not move again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Kropor staggered through the woods, Clio in his arms. He paid no attention to her frantic cries or the fists that flailed unceasingly at his arms. There was room for only one thought in his mind: he had to get back to the shelter, so Zena could fix Clio. All the love he had felt for Ralak had transferred itself to her tiny daughter, and the thought of losing her, too, could not be borne.

  After she had fallen, he had carried Clio to the cave. Her stillness had terrified him, and at first he had thought she was dead. Then he had seen that her chest still rose and fell at regular intervals, and he had realized she was alive. Still, he had not trusted the rhythmic movements, had watched them compulsively lest they cease when he looked away. Exhaustion had finally forced him to lie down beside her, but he had slept with his face against her lips, as he had slept that first night, so he could feel her breath on his cheek and know it had not left her.

  As soon as there was light enough to see, he had headed for the shelter at a run. It was then that Clio had suddenly opened her eyes and begun to cry. He had been overjoyed to hear sounds coming from her, but she had been crying ever since, and her screams tore at his heart.

  He looked down at her contorted face. He had never heard her cry before, and he knew the pain must be terrible. It cloud
ed her eyes, twisted her lips into a pathetic grimace, especially when he moved fast. To see Clio in pain was monstrous. To know that he worsened the pain by running was unendurable. But he had to run, had to find help quickly, lest she die. And so he simply ceased to hear and ran on, his breath ragged in his throat.

  Darkness had already fallen when he reached the trees near the shelter. He called out, but there was no answer. Perhaps he was still too far away for them to hear. He came closer and called again, but even before his voice died away, he knew no one was there. No sounds or scents emanated from the clearing; there was no babble of voices, no smell of sleeping bodies.

  Kropor's shoulders slumped in despair. The others had left, and now he might never find them. Then Clio would die, as Ralak had died.

  Tears came to his eyes, but he was too drained to shed them. He sank down onto the earthen floor of the shelter and laid Clio tenderly beside him. Grasping one of her tiny hands in his big palm, he willed her to stay alive. There was nothing else for him to do until the light came again, when he could see to look for tracks, try to follow the others.

  Twice during the night, the sound of lions snuffling around the clearing propelled him upright in terror. The second time, a young lion poked its head into the shelter and sniffed the air inquisitively. In the bright moonlight, Kropor watched a deep crease of perplexity appear in the thick fur between its shining yellow eyes. Then it turned and loped away.

  His heart thumped with fear. It must have been the lions that had forced the others to leave. Never had he known one to come so close. He pulled Clio into his arms, afraid to close his eyes again lest the young lion grow bolder still and snatch her while he slept.

  The sun still hid below the horizon when he ventured out to look for tracks. Even in the dim light, lion prints showed all around the clearing. Kropor shuddered and stared fearfully into the trees. Then his straining eyes spotted footprints left by the others, heading north out of the clearing. Even when the prints disappeared in the woods, he had no trouble following the trail. There were broken twigs and trampled grasses, and more footprints where the earth was soft.