CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (35 page)

"We need
different stones," Zena decided, realizing that she had never seen sparks
come from the stones they usually used, but only from the ones Lett had used.
She searched a nearby pile of rocks, straining to remember the look and feel of
Lett's stones.  One of them had orange in it, she thought, but the other
was hard and dark. She grabbed a rock streaked with rust-colored stains.

"The other
must be smooth," she told them.  "Dark and smooth, and very
hard."

Lotan came running
with a rock that looked promising.  Zena handed him the stone she had
found, and Lotan struck them sharply against each other.  His forearms
were strong from carving, and he could use more force even than Bran.

A spark appeared,
and his eyes lit up with comprehension.  If he could make a spark, perhaps
they could make fire!  He struck harder.  Another spark came. 

The others
gathered around to watch, sensing the excitement.  All of them, even the
smallest children, understood how important fire was to their lives. 

"Dry leaves,
or grasses," Zena called out suddenly.  "And twigs too."

They scattered to
find anything dry, a difficult task after the storm.  But finally they had
enough, and they gathered to watch again, unconsciously holding their breath in
anticipation.

Lotan shook the
tension out of his arms, then started again.  Harder and harder, he
slashed one stone against the other.  A spark shot forth, then
another.  Zena was ready, and held some dry grass close.  It caught
suddenly, and almost burned her hands.  She dropped it.  With a quick
movement, Bran poked some sticks into the tiny blaze.  It burned
sluggishly for a moment and then went out.

A groan of
disappointment filled the air, but now everyone was determined to
succeed.  Lotan's hands slashed again; again, the sparks flew.  This
time, an even bigger bundle of grass lay beneath them.  A spark caught in
the grass and began to burn, then it slowly fizzled out.  Zena blew on the
tiny flicker, very gently.  The fire flared up.  Silently, their
bodies tense with patience, the others plied it with more dry grasses and
twigs.  The flames burned, then threatened to go out once more.  Bran
blew this time, harder, as if he were the wind that made fire spread. 
Again, it flared.  Lotan poked a larger stick into the flames.  Zena
blew from one side, Bran from the other, while the others kept on adding twigs
and branches.

The fire was
burning more steadily now; they watched, mesmerized, afraid even to breathe
hard lest it go out again.  Then, suddenly, the flickering glow burst into
leaping flames.  They shot into the air, crackling and spitting, then
flattened to burn strongly. 

A long, collective
sigh escaped the group.  Astonishment marked their faces, then
incredulity, and after that came relief, and finally, gratitude.

"We have
fire!"  Lotan's voice cracked as the enormity of their discovery
became clear.

"And we can
make it whenever we want it,"  Sima added, her eyes round with
wonder.

"We must
thank the Mother."  Zena rose to her feet, and her voice rang with
emotion as she spoke.

"Great
Mother, we thank you for this gift.  Of all that You have given us, the
gift of fire, fire that we can create as we need it, is the greatest.  It
keeps the numbing cold from our bodies, protects us from the animals that prowl
in the darkness.  It cheers us, brings us close to You in body and in
heart as we sit together, watching the mystery of its flames."

Remembering that
fire could be dangerous as well as helpful, she added more words. 
"Always, we will use Your gift well, Great Mother, so that it may never do
harm to the earth that is Your home as well as ours."

The voices of the
others rose in unison, to confirm Zena's words.  To be able to make fire
was a wondrous gift, a gift beyond anything they had ever anticipated. 
Spontaneously, they joined hands and began to circle the fire they had created,
as they spoke to the Mother of their gratitude.  Around and around they
went, until weariness made their feet stumble.  They slid to the ground,
still close to each other, and stared into the sparkling flames. 
Abruptly, their animation returned, and they began to chatter excitedly.

"We will not
be cold again!"  Sima hugged Filar in delight.

"Not be cold
again," Filar repeated over and over, pleased with the sound of the words.

"Meat tastes
better after it has been in the fire,"  Lupe volunteered.  "Tubers
too."

"We will be
safe now, even when we travel."  Bran's voice was full of
satisfaction.  More than any, he felt responsible for keeping the others
safe.  Now his task would be much easier.

"The infants
will be warm,"  Metep said, looking down protectively at her tiny
son. Toro nodded happily.  

"No lion will
dare take this one," Nyta said, pointing to her swollen belly.

Lotan rubbed his
forearms.  "That is hard work!  But I will get better at making
the sparks." 

"We must all
learn," Zena said, "those who are strong enough, at least. 
Then, if one is lost, we can make a fire to tell the others where to
look."

Her words brought
Clio into their thoughts, and the joy left their faces.  Zena wished she
had not spoken.  A picture of Clio lying helpless on the ground, her
features crumpled in pain and fear, flashed into her mind, and she could not
make it go away.  Always before, Clio's face had been peaceful. 
Perhaps she really was hurt now, and needed their help.

Zena rose, her
composure shattered by the distressing image, and climbed to the top of a small
rise to survey the landscape.  Waving grasses stretched ahead in all
directions.  Termite mounds stuck up at intervals, their skinny peaks
almost as tall as the wide-crowned trees that gave shape and meaning to the
otherwise endless expanse.  Puffy clouds skittered against a sky so blue
and bright she had to lower her gaze and see them instead as moving shadows
that turned the soft yellow of the grasses into somber brown.

Bran came to join
her.  He did not speak but only stood beside her, comforting her with his
presence.  Zena leaned against him, grateful for his support.  Bran
was brother to her, in a way, for he was Kalar's son.  She had never felt
the desire to mate with him, nor he with her.  They cared for each other
in a different way, but their caring was deep and strong. 

Slowly, calmness
replaced the turmoil in Zena's heart, and the picture of Clio faded. But soon
after she fell asleep, Clio's face returned.  In her dreams, Zena saw the
child smile, one of the rare smiles that obscured for a moment the impenetrable
blackness of her eyes, eyes that never expressed anything but wildness. 
But then Clio began to cry, an action as rare for her as smiling.  She
cried and cried, and would not stop.

Zena sat bolt
upright, listening.  She was sure she could hear the crying, still. 
Lotan rose to his knees beside her.  His face was strained, incredulous.

"Clio!"
he said.  They stared at each other, not daring to believe.

**************************

The young lion
thrust his nose toward the outstretched hand, then jumped back, sneezing. 
The scent that came from the hand was strange, unlike anything he had smelled
before.  His mother had brought him zebras and antelopes and many smaller
animals to eat, but never anything that resembled this.  He did not trust
it.  He sank to the ground and watched the creature, his yellow eyes
unblinking.

His ears pricked
up as his mother's roar sounded from the field that bordered the woods. 
He rolled lazily against the ground before he rose and loped slowly toward the
sound.

Clio drew in her
hand, disappointed.  She had liked the lion.  Its movements had
fascinated her.  Imitating its low crouch, as if momentarily a lion
herself, she crawled to the place where it had sat.  The scent that
permeated the place pleased her, and she rolled in it as the lion had rolled.

The lion
returned.  His mother's roar had not signified food, as he had hoped, and
he was beginning to realize that he must learn to hunt for himself. 
Perhaps the small creature huddled against the tree would still be there.

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.