CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (14 page)

She picked up a
stick from the edge of the brush pile and poked it into some bushes the flames
had not yet reached, but no birds emerged.  Few were left now; fewer still
made nests.  She and the children searched the whole area, but found no
eggs.  Disappointed, she started back toward the clearing.

A hyena passed by,
cringing low.  Zena called sharply to the children and waved the stick to
scare it off.  It turned and fled.  She stopped, surprised. 
Never before had she been able to frighten away a hyena so easily.

A glow at the end
of the stick caught her attention.  It was burning there, she realized,
and when she had waved it, the fire had brightened into flames.  Perhaps
that was what had frightened the hyena.  She ran back for Dak and led him
to the pile of smoldering brush, leaving the children with Myta. 
Motioning to him to do the same, she found another stick with fire at one
end.  Together, they approached a grassy area where the hyenas often hid
and waved the sticks.  Low whimpers of fear emerged, and then the sound of
many feet loping away.

Zena and Dak
stared at each other, intuitively aware that they had discovered something very
important, something that would change their lives.  They called to the
others to get more burning sticks, as many as they could find.  When
darkness came, they placed the sticks around the pig and piled dry grasses and
brush on top, to make the fire bigger.  Then they concealed themselves in
the shelter and watched to see what would happen. 

A young lion came
first.  It slunk around the edges of the clearing, eyeing the fire
cautiously.  Twice, it darted forward, as if to grab the pig.  Each
time, it retreated, and finally it disappeared.  The hyenas came
next.  They crawled stealthily toward the pig, then turned away, whimpering
with fear.  Even the vultures would not approach.

The others looked
at Zena and Dak incredulously.  The burning sticks worked!  They
crept warily out of the shelter and approached the fire.  Its fierce heat
seared their skin, and the crackling blaze spat sparks at their faces. 
They drew back and watched from a distance until it burned less fiercely, then
they came gradually closer.  The leaping flames mesmerized them, held them
motionless with their strange beauty.  For a long time, they sat as if
hypnotized, staring into the scarlet flames, soaking up their warmth and power.

Slowly, the fire
died down and became embers.  Released from its spell, they shook
themselves and went to find more dry brush and grasses.  These were like
food to the flames, they knew, and would keep them alive.  All night long,
they took turns watching the fire and feeding it so it would not
disappear.  When Zena awoke in the morning, its pungent smell still filled
the air, and she sighed with relief.  Already, fire seemed an essential
part of their lives, and she did not want to lose it.

The pig kept them
fed for many days.  Then it began to rot in the hot sun, and the smell
became overwhelming.  There was not much left anyway, and they let the
vultures have it.  After that, there was no more food, and Zena knew they
would have to leave.  Klep and the twins had seen antelope and zebra still
feeding in the vast grasslands to the north, so she led the group in that
direction.  They brought burning sticks with them, to make fires at night,
and tended them carefully so they would not go out.

The sky was thick
with vultures as they approached the grasslands.  Their soaring bodies
almost blocked out the sun, and their hoarse croaks filled the air.  Zena
stared up at them, shivering despite the heat.  Vultures no longer
frightened her, but never before had she seen so many in one place.  The
constant swirl of heavy wings, the ceaseless clamor, made her skin prickle,
gave her a strange feeling of wrongness.  There was a smell too - the
smell of death.

She looked down to
see what had attracted the vultures.  At first, she did not see the
carcasses, for they were almost hidden by the mass of ungainly birds. 
Then she made out the shapes of muzzles, of curving horns and splayed hoofs,
and she cringed.  Bodies were everywhere; they littered the baking ground,
filled the air with their stench, as if this fourth year without rain had
abruptly pushed the weakest animals past the breaking point, and they had all
died at once.

In the distance, she
saw lions fighting over a dead zebra.  Off to the left, a tiger dragged an
antelope into the trees.  Hyenas snapped and whined behind it.  Wild
dogs with big, upright ears trotted through the carnage, their bellies
distended with gorging.  Over it all, the vultures soared, then dropped to
tear at the stinking flesh.

A bitter taste of
nausea rose in Zena's throat.  She swallowed it back determinedly. 
They needed food desperately, and at least some of the carcasses would be
fresh.  If they waved their burning sticks, they might be able to frighten
the other animals away and grab some chunks of meat.

Myta and Lop
stayed behind, in a dry stream bed shaded by trees, to guard Tipp and the two
younger children.  The others followed as Zena picked her way through the
long grass until she came to a carcass that seemed fresh.  Vultures
covered its head, and a group of hyenas snapped at its haunches.  Yelling
loudly, she brandished her burning stick.  The males added their deep
voices and swung their sticks fearlessly.  Yelping in fear, the hyenas
slunk a short distance away and sat watching them.  The vultures were
harder to frighten, but eventually they lumbered into the air and flew just
above the carcass, croaking angrily. 

The group worked
quickly.  They slashed big chunks from the carcass with their sharp
stones, twisted and yanked at bones so they could take a whole leg.  Then
they turned and ran.  The hyenas were already beginning to creep back,
snarling with renewed courage, and the vultures had landed again.  Their
stringy necks flashed in the sunlight as they jabbed furiously at the invaders.

The next day, and
for many days thereafter, they raided the carcasses.  It was dangerous
work, but they did not mind.  For the first time in years, their bellies
were full, their spirits content.  Each morning, they feasted on the juicy
flesh of a zebra or an antelope; each night, they slept contentedly, knowing
the fire would keep them warm and safe.  It drew the chill from their
bodies, kept the impenetrable darkness at bay.  Beyond it, lions roared
and hyenas snarled, but none dared to come close.

Most satisfying of
all were the evenings, when they plied the glowing embers they had tended so
carefully with fresh brush, and waited for the fire to settle into a steady blaze
that enclosed them in its magic.  They felt intimately connected to each
other during these hours, as if the fire had somehow made them one. 
Sometimes they exchanged words, tried to recount the day's adventures, or tell
each other about a new source of food, or an unusual animal or bird they had
seen.  Sometimes, too, they tried to find words for the thoughts in their
minds.  But just as often, they fell silent and stared into the crackling
flames, seeming to understand each other's thoughts without words.  It was
at these times especially that Zena knew they must stay together.  To be
apart was wrong.

Slowly, the
carcasses were reduced to piles of gleaming bones, and hunger began to plague
them once again.  Zena sent the others out in groups of two or three to
look for food, so they could cover as much territory as possible.  At the
end of the day, they returned to the clearing to share anything they had found,
and to sleep near the safety of the fire.  Foraging in small groups was
dangerous, but she could think of no other way to survive, unless the troop
dispersed entirely.  That she refused to consider.

Lions and tigers
had become a terrible problem.  Their numbers had increased dramatically
in the early years of the drought, when weakened and dying prey had been
plentiful.  Now even the carcasses were gone, and the big predators were
starving.  Hunger made them bold.  Whenever one of the troop failed
to return before darkness, the others were frantic with worry.  Once, Dak
did not come back to the shelter until the following day, and Zena suffered
agonies of fear.  

But it was Lop,
not Dak, who finally became the victim.  One evening, he went with Myta to
dig for water.  Myta laid the infant she had recently borne beside her as
she worked.  She did not see the tiger that slid noiselessly out of the
bushes and crept toward the baby - but Lop saw it.  Waving his stick and
yelling fiercely, he ran to stand over the tiny boy.  Usually timid, Lop
became violent when anything threatened his troop-mates, especially the
young. 

The tiger roared
but did not run.  Lop moved closer and hit it over and over again with his
stick.  Maddened by the blows, the tiger turned on him instead of the
baby.  Raising its heavy paw, it killed him with a massive strike to the
head.  Zena and the others ran to help, but they were too late.  By
the time they got there, the only noise was Myta's screaming, as she watched
the tiger close its cruel teeth around Lop and drag him away.

His death left a
gaping hole in their lives, despite his quiet ways.  Always, he had been
there to help, to pull back a child that had wandered too far, to sharpen
sticks for all of them - for his were the best - to gladly give the others the
food he had found.  They felt suddenly vulnerable too.  The tiger had
attacked despite the fire that burned a short distance away.  They pressed
close against each other in the shelter that night, afraid to sleep lest
another tiger come.

They should leave,
Zena realized, get away from the grasslands where the big predators hunted
before any more were killed.  But she could not think where to go. 
No area had escaped the ravages of the drought, and at least in this place they
could still dig in the stream bed for water.

Another danger,
one she had not expected, finally persuaded her to leave.  She had stayed
in the clearing with her infant daughter, born this time without difficulties,
while the others searched for food in the fields nearby.  Only Tipp was
with her.  A twig snapped behind her.  She whirled, fearing a predator. 
But no lion or tiger appeared.  Instead, a big male, a stranger, stepped
out of the bushes and eyed her pugnaciously. 

The baby whimpered
in her arms, disturbed from its sleep.  The male's eyes shifted. 
With a quick movement, he grabbed the infant's leg.  It screamed in
pain.  Zena twisted away and managed to free it from his grasp. 
Pushing it into Tipp's arms, she mouthed the word for
run
.

Tipp
hesitated.  She did not want to leave her mother alone with the violent
stranger.

"Run!" 
Zena screamed the word this time.  When Tipp still did not move, she added
another sound.

"Others,"
she said forcefully.  Tipp turned and ran.

Zena faced the
male.  He was huge, larger even than Klep, but scrawny with hunger. 
Instinctively, she knew she could not trust him.  There was no softness in
his eyes, only challenge.

The male turned
away from her and started to run after Tipp and the infant.  Zena plunged
after him and grabbed his arm, to make him stop, but he was too strong for her,
and she was dragged along as he ran.  Pulling herself forward, she leaped
in front of him.  The male tripped and fell on top of her.  He stared
at her, surprised.  Taking advantage of his confusion, and his position,
Zena turned her genitals towards him.  As he leaned down to sniff her, she
picked up a large rock and brought it down on his back with all the strength
she possessed.

The male howled
and rolled away.  Zena landed another blow on his shoulder.  He
grimaced and raised his clenched fist.  But before he could hit her, angry
shouts distracted him.  Dak and Klep, with the twins and Tipp behind them,
came charging across the dry grasses, yelling as they came.  The big male
leaped to his feet and crashed away through the bushes.  But the next day,
he came again, and the next as well.  Every day he returned, always at a
different time.  He was watching them, Zena realized, waiting to snatch an
infant while it was unguarded. 

She
shuddered.  The big male frightened her even more than lions and
tigers.  He was like themselves, except there was no caring in him. 
He was desperate for food, and even the flesh of infants of his own kind would
do.  She kept all of them together, ready always to repel the next attack.

One day, the big
male did not come, and Zena knew they must escape while they could. 
Gathering the others around her, she whispered the word for
"go".  They nodded, understanding, and followed her silently
from the clearing.  Determinedly, she turned in the direction of the
river.  They would probably find water there, too, if they dug deep
enough.  Besides, there was nowhere else to go.

The number of
predators declined as they traveled away from the grasslands, and there was no
further sign of the big male.  Some of their fear dissipated, but their
hunger and thirst did not.  Once, the twins found a termite nest that
still held insects, and Dak found some stringy tubers, so dry they could hardly
be chewed.  After that, three days passed with nothing but an occasional
sip of water from the shell of an ostrich egg they had brought.  Zena
watched Tipp and the younger children rub their hands over their hunger-swollen
bellies, as if to massage the emptiness away, and her heart ached with sorrow
that they should suffer.  She gave them the last dribble of water, to
comfort them, and wondered if they would ever find more.

They staggered on,
bellies distended, throats raw with dryness.  Another day passed with
agonizing slowness; the night was spent dreaming of food and water that never
came.  Only the thought of the river kept them going, made it possible to
put one foot in front of the other.  Always before, the river had provided
sanctuary, and they clung to the thought that it would do so again.  But
when they finally reached their goal, the hope that had sustained them drained
away.  There was no food, and no water at all.  No matter how deep
and hard they dug, not a single drop emerged.