CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES)

CIRCLES

OF

STONE

JOAN DAHR

LAMBERT

Copyright © Joan Dahr Lambert

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Originally published in hardcover and paperback by
Pocket Books, Simon & Schuster

Praise for Joan Dahr Lambert and CIRCLES OF STONE

“CIRCLES OF STONE
is an epic story of the indomitable human spirit
through the ages. A gripping prehistoric saga of life and death, joy and
suffering, and enduring hope sustained by faith in the Great Goddess, it brings
to life what once was and can again be. It is a book that will be treasured for
generations to come as a new classic celebrating life and love.”

Riane Eisler, author of The Chalice and the Blade and
Sacred Pleasure.

“Joan Dahr Lambert’s strikingly detailed writing fully
immerses the reader in this foreign world… Original…
CIRCLES OF STONE
will amaze you…”

Literary Guild

“Joan Dahr Lambert gives the genre a new lift.”

James H. Bready,
Baltimore Sun

“Lambert combines her research and theories into a
compelling story… She seems to capture, through raw detail,  the sights, scents
and sounds of a million years ago.
CIRCLES OF STONE
is a
memorable novel that leaves the reader, man or woman, thinking about nothing
less than the human existence.”

Renee Aragon,
Great Divide
(
Clear Creek County
,
CO
)

“A blinding journey of intense spirituality and
story-telling so unobtrusive it begs the reader to pay attention…
CIRCLES
OF STONE
 displays an obvious depth of knowledge about the evolution of
human minds and bodies, and its imaginative and embracing characters explore
the evolution of the human soul - making this book a spiritual experience in
itself.”

Rachel Perry,
Flint
(MI) Journal

CIRCLES

OF

STONE

This book is dedicated to my father,

whose love of intellectual pursuits

and regard for the natural world are gifts I cherish,

 and to my husband for his unfailing

support as the book evolved
.

PROLOGUE

Zena
took her daughter's hand to help her up the steep path.  She was hardly aware
of making an effort, so familiar was the way.  Hundreds of times, she had
come to the sacred ledge where she spoke to the Goddess, the Mother of all that
lived.  But for the young Zena, the way was new and strange.

They
came to the opening high on the cliffs.  Zena led her daughter out upon
the ledge and stood, arms upraised, to greet the Goddess. The young Zena
watched, still and silent.

"Great
Goddess, I bring you my daughter, who is destined to serve You, for she, too,
bears the name of Zena.  Help her as she learns Your ways; walk within her
as she journeys through her life.  Send her Your knowledge, Your wisdom;
guide her heart and mind as she leads our people in the years to come. 
Blessed Mother, we reach now for Your strength."

Zena
waited until she felt the Goddess within her, deep and secure, before she
turned to speak to her daughter.  The young Zena listened carefully, for
she knew she must never forget what she learned this day in the sacred
place. 

"For
many years, more than any can remember," Zena told her, "we have
lived in harmony with each other and with the life around us.  That is
because have we followed the ways of the Mother, the ways of peace and
caring.  In each tribe, there was a wise woman who taught the Mother's
ways to her daughter, or her sister's daughter; she, too, passed on her
knowledge.  And so it has been, until now, for all the years of our
existence.

"Some
of these wise ones were called Zena, like ourselves.  To us, the Mother
entrusts Her most arduous tasks.  The first one lived long ago, before the
time of our people's memory, but her love for her people, her suffering when
they were hungry or in pain, was no different than our own. The next Zena could
see far more with her mind than any other, and she changed our world in many
ways.  Because of her, all people came to know the Mother, so that all
could live in peace.

The
one who came after her was myself, and already you know something of my
story.  But now you must know all; you must journey into my heart and
mind, into the hearts and minds of the others who bore the name of Zena, for we
are one even as we are separate.  Here, as we wait on the cliff, the
Goddess will bring you our lives, in Her visions.  You will feel our joy
and suffering, know our thoughts, our fear and wonder, see and hear all that we
have seen and heard, until you have become us.  Only in this way can you
fulfill the destiny entrusted to you by the Goddess: to keep the Mother's ways
alive in the time of trial to come.

"Come
with me now, child; come with me to greet the Goddess, for She calls us. 
Pull Her wisdom into your mind, Her strength into your body, Her love into your
heart.  Feel Her deep within you as She takes you back to the beginning,
to the one who was first called Zena.  She will teach you, as each of us
will teach you.  Fill yourself with our lives, our knowledge and visions,
all that we have experienced, until we have become a part of you, a part of all
the Zenas yet to come, so that the ways of the Mother will never be forgotten."

PART ONE

FROM THE RIFT VALLEY

TO THE
OLDUVAI
GORGE

EAST AFRICA

One Million Years Ago

CHAPTER
ONE

The
scream exploded across the empty savannah.  Zena flinched and huddled
closer to the base of the ancient acacia, trying to make herself invisible against
its gray bark.  Her hands betrayed her; they rubbed ceaselessly across the
swollen curve of her empty belly in a futile gesture of comfort.  She had
not eaten for many days.

The
shrill cry of alarm had come from her mother, Tope, above her in the tree. 
She screamed again, and this time the piercing sound broke through Zena's
lethargy.  Grabbing a low limb, she scrambled into the gnarled tree. 
Only when she had reached the safety of Tope's side did she look down. 
The hyena stared hungrily up at her.  Its massive jaws were still wide
open in readiness, and drool spilled from its grinning lips.  She
shuddered and moved closer to her mother.

The
hyena stretched its forelegs up the tree and lunged toward them.  Tope
shook her stick at it, screaming all the while.  When it leaped again, she
struck it hard in the nose.  The animal retreated, whining, and loped
slowly away.  Tope watched intently until it had disappeared from sight.

Zena
watched with her until exhaustion made her eyelids droop.  She forced them
open again, afraid to sleep, and stared listlessly toward a horizon turned pale
with dust.  Waves of heat shimmered against her vision, but she saw no
other movement, no sign of life anywhere on the expanse of cracked brown earth
before her.  Once, huge herds of animals and miles of undulating grasses
had decorated the plains, but this Zena did not know.  All she had ever
seen was an occasional tree thrusting its bare branches upward as if in
supplication, and piles of sun-bleached bones, mute testimony to the power of
the drought.

A
twig snapped beside her, and she jumped in alarm.  But it was only her
mother, climbing slowly from the tree.  An infant, its round eyes enormous
in a nearly fleshless face, was clutched tightly against her bony chest.

Calling
to Zena to follow, Tope headed toward an old stream bed she had spotted in the
distance.  The pebble-lined fissure was all that remained of a stream that
had once thrust its way, bubbling, through the grasses. Now it looked dry as
bone, but water sometimes lingered beneath the surface of such places. 
Without water, Tope knew they would not last much longer. 

Too
drained to move, Zena did not respond.  Tope looked back and called to
her.  Every few yards, she stopped and repeated the calls.  Finally,
when Zena still had not stirred, she uttered an imperative hoot of alarm. 
The harsh sound, familiar to Zena since her birth six years before, triggered
an automatic response.  Whimpering softly, she lowered herself from the
tree and floundered after her mother.

A
tiny pool of water slowly formed as Tope dug deeply into the old stream bed.
Imitating her mother, Zena finally managed to obtain a few slurps of tepid,
earth-laden liquid.  But it was enough to ease her thirst a little.

All
the rest of that day, Tope headed west, following an instinct she did not
question.  Her deep-set eyes, protected from the glaring sun by a jutting
ridge of brow, swept the barren landscape constantly as she walked, and her
sensitive nostrils twitched, testing the air for scents.  Zena tried to
imitate her mother, but there was nothing to see but the haze, nothing to smell
but dryness.  She licked her forearms, seeking a few precious drops of
sweat.  Dust coated her tongue instead.

Tope
lunged suddenly at a small lizard that had crossed her path.  She caught
it deftly and crammed it into her mouth.  Dislodged by the abrupt
movement, the infant began to whimper.  Tope pulled it close to her
breast, which hung low and pendulous so the baby could suckle as she walked. 
But little milk was left to comfort it, and the thin wailing did not stop.

A
sound made Tope whirl.  The big male had crept up behind them, his
footsteps muffled by the powdery earth and the baby's crying.  Tope eyed
him warily.  She did not trust strange males.  Once, she had seen one
grab an infant and smash its head against the ground.  The image was
indelibly printed on her memory.

Zena
ducked behind her mother's back and peered nervously at the intruder.  She
seldom saw others like herself.  Her troop had dispersed long ago, for
nowhere in the drought-ravaged land was there enough food and water to support
a group.  The stranger frightened her.  Almost twice the size of her
mother, he had massive shoulders, and his jaw and chest were matted with dark
hair.

The
male reached out as if to grab the infant, then lunged unexpectedly at Zena.
She shrieked and ran back a few steps, but Tope stood her ground. Holding the
baby tightly against her chest, she turned and presented her rump. The male
sniffed her, then grabbed once more at the infant with a heavily muscled arm.
Tope screamed at him and clutched it closer. Again, she presented her
rump.  This time, the male mounted her and thrust eagerly. He groaned with
pleasure, and so did she. When he had finished, he ambled off in the direction
from which he had come.

Tope
waited until she was certain he would not follow them again; then she hurried
on.  Streaks of brilliance on the western horizon told her that darkness
would soon come, and she wanted to find a secure place to spend the
night.  But no tree or pile of rocks that might offer refuge was visible
on the pale and desiccated land that lay ahead.  All she could see was a
clump of stunted bushes, branches stripped of the withered berries that had
been the only remnants of a once sumptuous annual feast.  But the branches
had thorns and would offer at least minimal safety from predators during the
dark hours.

Zena
followed her mother into the meager protection of the bushes and watched
fearfully as darkness gathered around them.  Soon, the air was so black
she could not even see the shape of her hand.  She listened instead,
straining her ears for the stealthy sound of padded claws so she would be ready
to run.  But no lion or tiger appeared, and finally the light came again.

As
soon as she could see, Tope crawled out of the bushes and started to
walk.  Zena stumbled after her.  Her legs felt heavy and useless, and
her throat was so dry she could hardly breathe.  She gasped, and sank to
her knees.  Tope grabbed her arm to pull her up again, but Zena was too
heavy for her, so Tope went on by herself.  She struggled over a low
embankment, holding tightly to the infant.

At
the top of the rise, Tope turned suddenly and called.  Zena could hear the
excitement in her voice.  Wearily, she raised her head.  Her mother
was gesturing wildly, urging her forward.  With the last remnants of her
strength, Zena staggered over the embankment.  Her eyes widened in
hope.  Before her was an old lake bed, and in its center was a small
puddle of water.

Mother
and daughter hesitated despite their terrible thirst.  Once, the lakes of
the savannah had gleamed blue in the sunlight and sustained all manner of
life.  But neither Tope nor Zena had any memory of such beneficence. 
To them, lake beds held only death.  Vast, sunken depressions in the
earth, their cracked surfaces were littered with the bones of animals that had
died in a last, desperate attempt to slake their thirst.  The urge to
drink could be perilous.  Predators lurked nearby, ready always to spring
upon those who chose water over safety.  But even they were not
safe.  Lured by the promise of an easy meal, hunter as well as hunted
often flailed helplessly in the treacherous muck near the center of the lake.