CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (38 page)

Above it all, the
mountains loomed, dominating the landscape.  Some were so high few animals
could breathe with ease, if they managed to climb their summits.  Others
had bowl-shaped tops and belched out smoke and fire that shimmered in the
heat-laden air.  Once, the volcanoes had smoked and sputtered beneath seas
that had long ago rubbed their peaks to smoothness.  They smoldered still,
and when the pressure of molten rock against hard crust was strong enough, they
exploded.  Earthquakes followed, and fires, and floods and droughts,
leaving behind them piles of steaming rubble and tumbled boulders, or huge
expanses of smooth black lava and endless sands, where nothing grew. 

Sometimes, though,
amidst the desolation and violence, there emerged places of unearthly beauty,
places where plants and trees, even birds and animals, grew larger and more
fruitful than they ever had before.  One such place lay at the northern
edge of the great valley Zena and her tribe traversed.  But this northern
oasis, like all the others, was hard to reach.  Deserts and smoking
mountains blocked the way, and always, there were the impassable chasms that
sliced the fractured land. 

Zena stared at
such a chasm, and knew they could not go on.  They had finally come to the
high plateaus and smoking mountains she had seen in her vision.  What her
vision had not revealed was the desolation between the plateaus.  There
was no life anywhere in the baking gray-white valley below her, except for
vultures that soared in endless circles.  There was no water, either, only
bubbling springs that smelled of rot, and brackish ponds with the same
distinctive odor.  Lotan had warned them away, remembering the two men who
had died so cruelly.

To avoid the
terrible heat and dryness, they had trudged up countless plateaus, trying to
find a higher route, where there was water and food and above all,
coolness.  Unless they could walk up here, in the highlands, Zena did not
think they could go on.  But each time, they had ended up in a place like
this, where the land dropped away on all sides, staring helplessly into an impenetrable
chasm.  Each time, they had returned the way they had come, steeling
themselves to endure the searing air that would soon assault their faces, their
feet, their lungs.

Wearily, Zena
turned to retrace her steps once again.  She moved slowly, for the infant
within her was big now, and pressed against her legs.  The others followed
patiently, but she saw the exhaustion in their faces, heard the sighs and
gasping breath they tried to conceal.  For the first time, she wondered
why she had brought them here, why she had undertaken the journey at all, and
whether they would survive it.  The savannah they had left seemed
infinitely comforting.

Heat hit like a
physical barrier the moment they stepped onto the pale earth of the sunken
valley floor.  It pressed against their skin, pulled every drop of
moisture from their bodies.  Zena saw a thin ribbon of shade beneath an
overhanging escarpment, and led them to it.  But even here, they could not
escape the sun's blinding glare, its scorching heat on their shoulders. 
The air was so hot they had to pant in an effort to cool it before it reached
their lungs. 

Bushes ahead
caught her eye.  Perhaps there would be berries on their branches. 
They would be welcome for their moisture even more than as food. 

The bushes began
to move strangely.  There was something behind them, she realized as she
came closer, something that looked like the heads of others like themselves -
only they were not like themselves.  They had the slanted foreheads and
heavy jaws of Big Ones, but they were smaller, much smaller.  Dirt smeared
their faces, and they were thin, undernourished. 

They emerged from
the bushes, each clutching a stick or rock.  There were many of them, and
the fierceness in their eyes frightened Zena.  They moved toward her,
staring hungrily at the baskets, the gourds, at Three-Legs, the children too.

"Put the
young ones behind," she ordered quietly.  Perhaps these Fierce Ones
meant no harm, but she did not think so.  They moved as a leopard moved
when it stalked its prey. 

Alerted by their
predatory stance, Three-Legs galloped away and scrambled up the side of the
steep escarpment.  Unencumbered by Clio, whose leg had healed well enough
for her to walk some of the time at least, Three-Legs moved fast.  She was
out of sight before the Fierce Ones could sling rocks in her direction, and
Zena was glad.  They had no meat to trade this time.

"Sticks, and
rocks.  Quickly!"  Bran's voice was firm, but there was
terrifying urgency in it.  His eyes were fixed on the face of the largest
male.

The Fierce Ones
came close and pointed to the basket Nyta carried.  Grunting, one of them
reached out to take it.

"Give them
one?"  Zena suggested, looking at Bran to see if he agreed. 
Bran nodded, and held out his basket.  The biggest male snatched it and
ran off, holding it tightly against his chest.  The others did not follow,
but crowded close and tried to snatch more baskets.  One grabbed a gourd
and shook it.  Water splashed out and his eyes lit up with astonishment. 
The others grabbed at gourds too.  They uttered guttural sounds of threat
as they reached, and their hands were insistent, demanding.

Fear caught Zena
so hard she was dizzy for a moment.  The Fierce Ones would not be
satisfied with one basket, even two.  They wanted all the baskets, all the
gourds.  If they gave them up, her tribe would have no food, no
water.  They could not survive without the water.

One of the Fierce
Ones pointed at Sima.  He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away from
the group.  Quickly, Zena thrust Sima behind her, protecting her with her
body.  The Fierce One reached for Clio instead.  Kropor roared and
lashed out with his stick.  It hit the male squarely on the head, and he
dropped.  The others moved closer, growling.

"Run! 
Take the young ones and run!"  Bran whirled as he spoke and swung his
stick hard from side to side, to make the Fierce Ones back off so the others
could escape.  Kropor joined him, brandishing his bloodied stick, and
Lotan stood just behind, ready to club any Fierce One that dared to move.

Zena obeyed
unquestioningly.  Pulling Sima with her, she tucked the screaming Clio
under one arm and ran.  The other women followed with the frightened
children.  As soon as they were out of sight of the Fierce Ones, Zena left
them hiding in a dense clump of bushes and ran clumsily back to see what was
happening with the men.

The sickening
sound of sticks hitting flesh came to her even before she reached the
scene.  Suddenly, she smelled fire.  There was an abrupt silence, then
she heard a series of yells and the sound of running feet.  Zena sprinted
as fast as she could, desperate to know what had happened.

Coming closer, she
saw that the bushes were burning.  She stopped, perplexed.  How had
they caught fire?  And the Fierce Ones were running, fleeing as if their
lives depended on it.  Gourds and baskets littered the ground behind
them.  Bran and the other men were watching them, open-mouthed with
astonishment.  Suddenly Bran turned to Lupe and hugged him.

"You have
made them run!" he shouted excitedly.  "It was the fire that
made them run, not our sticks!"

Lupe hugged him
back, thrilled at the praise.  At eight, he was too small to fight the
fierce ones, but he was also unwilling to run away with the other
children.  Instead, he had tried to think how he could help.  All
day, he had carried a burning stick despite the heat.  When he saw that
the Fierce Ones were hurting Bran, he had plunged it into the bushes, trying to
create a distraction.  Dry as tinder, they had blazed furiously.  The
Fierce Ones had stared at the fire, then at the stick that had caused such
magic, and then they had run as fast as they could go.

"We must get
away quickly, while they are afraid,"  Bran said, gathering up the
baskets and gourds.

Zena nodded
distractedly.  Her mind was full of questions.  Bran and the other
men had looked so eager when they had faced the fierce ones, as if they
relished the opportunity to fight.  Women would fight, too, especially if
the young ones were threatened, but she had never seen that eagerness on their
faces, nor felt it herself.  Why were the men so different?

Still pondering
the question, she scrambled up the side of the escarpment to look for
Three-Legs, and found her grazing peacefully on the lush grasses that grew in
abundance on the plateaus.  The others followed eagerly, glad to escape
the oppressive heat as well as the Fierce Ones.

Unlike the other
plateaus, this one seemed to run north, Zena noticed hopefully.  Perhaps
they would be able to travel up here. Her hopes were dashed when she saw the
line of jagged cliffs that rose all along its northern edge, blocking the
way.  And even if they could negotiate the cliffs, the land behind them
fell away into nothingness, as it always did, making travel impossible.

Too drained to
absorb still another disappointment, she concentrated on finding a place to
sleep.  They might not be able to travel on the plateau, but they could at
least spend the night.  To shiver a little would be wonderful, after all
the nights they had spent trying to endure the stultifying air.

Lotan spotted a
pile of boulders under one of the steep, overhanging cliffs, with an open space
in front for their fire.  It was a good, secure place, and Zena was
glad.  They needed to feel safe, after their frightening adventure. 

"I felt
sorrow for the Fierce Ones," Sima said later, as they sat around the
fire.  "They looked very hungry, and the bones of the young ones had
nothing on them.  But they frightened me too.  Their eyes were so
hard."

"I wonder
that they do not live up here, instead of remaining in the hot valley,"
Lotan commented.

"Perhaps they
do not know how to change," Zena answered.  "The Mother may not
have given all of us the ability to think of new ways to find food, new places
to live.

"I, too, felt
sorrow for them," she added, "especially the young ones.  Still,
they would have taken all our food and water, our tools, if Bran and Kropor and
Lotan had not protected us so well.  And Lupe, who frightened them away
with fire.

"It was
because of you, all of you," she said, looking into their eyes one at a
time, "that we are safely here now.  You were brave.  To fight
Fierce Ones like that takes great courage.  I thank you, and the Mother
thanks you."

"It is your
job to lead us," Bran responded, "but it is my job to keep the tribe
safe.

"It is good
Kropor has returned, " he added.  "We might need to fight more
Fierce Ones."  He looked pleased at the thought and raised his fist,
as if to deliver a blow. 

Zena frowned,
wondering how he could possibly look forward to another encounter.  Then
her eyes opened wide as understanding came.  That was why the Mother had
made males as She had.  They needed to be aggressive so they would welcome
a fight when fighting was necessary.  Otherwise, a whole tribe could be killed. 
Their belligerence was bad only if there was too much of it, or it came out too
easily.  As Ralak had once said, some men had too much of the harsh
earthforce in them.  Kropor had been like that, until Ralak had helped him
to change.

She sighed, glad
to have this mystery finally resolved, but more than ever conscious of the
responsibility she carried.  A strong wise one made the difference, Kalar
had often said, for then she could help the men to control their aggression so
the tribe could live in peace.  This she must never forget.

She lay down with
the others to sleep, but her mind would not rest.  A higher route must
exist; in her visions, she had seen them traveling in a lush green valley, not
a menacing, waterless desert.  To find it was more important than ever
now. Bran might not mind another confrontation with the fierce ones, but Zena
had no intention of taking such a risk.

Zena opened her
mind to the Mother, and listened as hard as she had ever listened.  But no
clear message came.  She had only a terrible sense of unease, as if
something were wrong, and beyond it, a feeling of hope.  There would be
wrongness, and then somehow, a solution.  With that, she had to be
content.

She woke later in
the night, certain now that something was terribly wrong.  The feeling was
in the air, in the earth, in everything around her.  Slipping from the
shelter, she stared out at the moonlit night.  Nothing looked amiss. 
Stars littered the sky, and there was no wind, no sign that a storm was
coming.  Only the clouds looked different.  Heavy and edged with
black, they moved as if they owned the sky.  They were gathering with
incredible speed; even as she watched, they blotted out the whole firmament of
stars she had seen a moment ago.  Soon, only the half-grown moon was
visible behind them.  It shone through their mass, giving them an ominous,
unearthly glow. 

Zena turned away,
and as she turned she saw that one star still remained, high above the
cliffs.  It was the brightest star of all, and always pointed north. 
She stared at it, as if seeking confirmation for the journey she had
initiated.  If the star was still there, guiding her, perhaps they would
be all right, despite the travails they had endured, might still endure.

Another glow to
the west caught her attention.  She had been watching the smoking mountain
for days now, certain it would soon explode.  She thought they were too
far away for it to harm them, but still she worried.  Now flames as well
as smoke were erupting from its bowl-shaped top.  Probably, she realized,
the impending explosion was the cause of her distress - but somehow that did
not feel quite right. 

Fiery hunks of
molten rock shot suddenly into the air and soared in huge arcs before they hit
the ground.  Zena could not see where they landed, but she was certain
fires would break out there, fires so hot and intense nothing could
escape.  She shivered convulsively, glad to be far away.