CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (24 page)

Zena watched,
transfixed by his performance.  Had the others of his tribe died?  Or
had he been separated from them in the fire?   And why had he pointed
to her, and then to Cere? 

She would never
know unless she learned his words, or taught him theirs.  She decided to
start immediately.

"Zena,"
she told him, pointing to herself.

He regarded her
seriously and then pointed to himself, saying a word that sounded like their
word for
fish
. 

Zena tried to say
it, too.  The boy laughed, and repeated the word.  "Lotan,"
he seemed to be saying.  Zena tried again, and this time he nodded.

So his name was
Lotan.  That was a start.  She pointed to Sima and said their word
for
child
.  Then she gestured strongly with both hands, as if
trying to draw a word from him. 

The young male's
eyes lit up with comprehension.  He uttered a word, pointing to the child.

Zena committed it
to memory and tried another.  Soon, she understood his words for most of
the objects and people in the immediate vicinity, as well as a word for Lotan's
wounds.  She was especially interested in Lotan's expression when she
asked for the word for
mother
.  The sadness came over his face when
he uttered his word, and stayed there.  He pointed to Bran, and then made
gestures, as if fighting.

"Male wound
mother?"  Zena's words were halting, but Lotan understood.  He
nodded vigorously, and rose to his feet again, pointing to the place from which
he had come.

"Help
mother?"  Zena pointed to herself and Bran and Kalar, then at Lotan,
hoping he would get the meaning of
help
.  Again, his eyes lit up.

"Help
mother," he repeated, nodding furiously.

Kalar spoke for
the first time.  "You must sleep first," she said firmly.

Zena translated
this message as well as she could, and Lotan nodded reluctantly. He would not
be able to walk very far until his burns improved, anyway.

All that afternoon
and into the evening, Zena sat by the fire, which they had managed to relight,
and learned words from Lotan.  Kalar watched her, frowning a little. 
The child was so intense, so determined to learn everything she wanted to know
immediately.  She did not stop to eat, to rest, even to pat Three-Legs.

It was time to
start teaching Zena seriously, she realized, not just of plants and their uses,
but of the Mother, of what it meant to be a wise one.  Almost ten years
had passed now since Zena's birth, and she was old enough.  Already, she
knew so much, more than any of the others, about the world around them. 
She could imagine, and invent, find answers to puzzles.  But that was not
enough.  She needed to understand and accept the Mother's ways, Her
infinite patience and strength. 

Zena was of the
Mother, destined to serve Her and speak for Her, of that Kalar was
certain.  But she knew, too, that Zena would find the task of learning the
Mother's ways more difficult than some.  She was impetuous and often
stubborn, too ready to find her own solutions without help from any
other.  Zena needed to learn to open herself to the Mother's wisdom,
combine it with her own abilities.  Otherwise, her intelligence could lead
her astray.  Especially, she had to learn to accept.  The Mother's
ways were mysterious, harsh as well as kind.  No one could understand them
fully.  Even Zena could not.  No; she must learn to accept.  It
was the only way.

Tomorrow, Kalar
decided.  Tomorrow, as they prepared to go to the lake once again, she
would begin the initiation.

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

The tribe gathered
around the hearth fire toward the end of the day, as was their custom.  Lotan
hovered uncertainly at the edges of the group.  Seeing his unhappy face,
Zena pulled him down beside her with a reassuring grin.

"Lotan is his
name," she told the others.  "He showed me some of what
happened. He went one way, and his tribe another.  A male hurt his mother,
I think, and he worries about her.  I will know better when I learn more
of his words.

"He is very
sad, I think," she added, regarding Lotan's pensive expression.

The others nodded
sympathetically.  Kalar was about to reply when a commotion brought
everyone to their feet.  The wildebeest across the river had begun to
bellow and stamp restlessly against the dry earth.  All day, Zena and the
others had watched clouds of dust billow into the air as thousands of the
shaggy animals traveled slowly south.  They passed this way each year at
the same time, seeming to smell even the possibility of rain.  The tribe
had not paid much attention to their passage, except to realize that if the
wildebeests were moving, the rains would surely come soon.

Kalar went down to
the river to see what was happening.  Lett followed.  They stared at
each other, frowning.  No words were needed to express what was in both
their minds.  They had watched the wildebeests for many years, and knew that
the huge herds were closer than they had ever been before.  They also knew
the wildebeests had to cross the river to get to the grassy plains to the
south. Usually, they crossed beyond the river's deep bend, about half a day's
journey away.  It seemed impossible that they might cross here; they had
never done such a thing before. 

Still, their
nearness made Kalar uneasy.  It was hard to tell exactly which way the
animals were heading, or even to see individual bodies among the churning
mass.  The dust was too thick, and the light was beginning to fade as
well.  But it did look as if the agitated beasts were coming this way.

She yelled to the
others to go into the shelter.  Unless the big beasts stampeded, they
should be safe there.  She turned for a last look at the plain across the
river, and her eyes widened in dismay.  There was fire behind the
wildebeests, fire that was moving fast.  Only a moment before, the horizon
had been clear.  Now it glowed orange, then scarlet, as the fire caught a
grove of trees and hurled flames into the sky.  Fires were burning to the
south of the wildebeests, too, blocking their normal route.  That was why
they seemed to be heading for the river.  There was no other way to
go. 

A thick spear of
lightning sheared across the sky and hit the ground in the middle of the throng
of animals.  Another came, and then another.  Deafening claps of
thunder accompanied the brilliant flashes.  They were so loud that Kalar's
eardrums felt pierced.  They boomed and reverberated across the plains.

Bellows of fear
sprang from the throats of hundreds of the burly creatures across the
river.  Then, abruptly, they began to run.  A few animals thrust
themselves forward, jostling and shoving for position; the others
followed.  Within seconds, all of them were galloping in a thick,
fast-moving line of thrashing hoofs and heavy bodies and impenetrable
dust.  And now there was no doubt about their direction.  They were
running straight towards the river and the clearing that lay beyond it.

Lett screamed into
the clamor.  "Go to the trees," he shouted.  "Into the
trees, fast!"  But his voice was lost in the thunderous pounding of
hoofs.

Kalar whirled and
sprinted for the shelter.  The massive body of animals, so large it
covered almost the entire plain, was stampeding.  The ground shook beneath
her feet, and the noise was overwhelming.  She did not think the others
could possibly have heard Lett's warning.  But even if they had, there
would barely be time to get to the trees.  Wildebeests ran like the wind
when they were frightened.  And they would trample everything, everyone,
in their path.  Nothing stopped them, not water, not a thick barrier of
thorns.  Only the big trees on either side of the clearing might deter
them.  They would be funneled between the trees, through the clearing,
through the shelter...

She ran
faster.  The first animals would be upon them in moments.  The river
would not even slow them down; it was shallow at this time of the year, and not
very wide.

"The
trees," she screamed, as she saw Nyta hesitating in the middle of the
clearing, uncertain where to go.  Nyta sprinted for the woods with her
infant, pulling Sima behind.  But the child was paralyzed with fright, and
dropped to the ground.  Kalar saw Zena grab her hand and drag her toward a
big tree.  She shoved her into the arms of the strange male and scrambled
up the tree.  He pushed the child into Zena's arms and climbed up himself.

Good
, Kalar
thought. 
Zena is safe,
. but she kept going, for she had not seen
Cere, or any of the others.  The dust was so thick it was hard to see
anything, or even breathe. 

She looked up
again, toward the shelter.  There was movement in it, she was sure of
it.  The others must still be huddled there, believing they were
safe.  She must warn them, get them out.

The wildebeests
had started to cross.  She could hear the splashes, the roars and bellows
and screams as smaller animals were trampled by bigger ones.  They had
gone into a frenzy of panic; they knew nothing except that they were
running.  They would run and run even if they killed each other, even if
they killed themselves.  Kalar could feel their panic in her bones.

Lett passed her,
breathing hard.  Had he, too, seen movement in the shelter?  Kalar
tried to catch him, to send him into the trees, while there was still time, but
the breath had gone from her body, and she could not make her legs go any
faster.  She staggered and almost fell.

Suddenly she saw
another figure, sprinting toward her from the edge of the woods.  It was
Cere, searching the clearing before her with frantic eyes.

"No," 
Kalar screamed.  "No!  Go back!  Zena is safe!" 
But Cere did not hear.  She ran on, her face transfigured with fear.

A roiling cloud of
dust enveloped Kalar.  The wildebeests were right behind her; she could
feel the thuds in the earth, hear the hot breath of the panting animals. 
It was too late... She knew it was too late.

In the instant
before the huge beasts reached her, she looked up and saw Lett near the edge of
the clearing.  A child was tucked under each of his arms. 

He had gone to
rescue the others before he ran himself.  Kalar knew that wordlessly, and
so he would die, and the little ones with him, for the wildebeests were almost
upon him too.  Their horns were lowered, and their eyes gleamed red with
panic.  She saw Lett throw one of the children toward the trees, and then
he disappeared beneath the thrashing hoofs. 

Kalar closed her
eyes.  Lett; they had killed Lett.  He had been her mate so many
times, and she had loved him... Always, it was Lett she could count on to give
advice, to soothe her.  More than any other, he had understood how hard it
could be to speak for the Mother, to know Her ways -

She felt the first
hoof crash into her back.  Kalar bent low to the dusty earth, seeking its
embrace, and called out to the Mother.  She did not know if she said
words, but her message was clear in her mind.

It is to Zena I
entrust my place.  It is Zena who will hear Your messages.  Zena will
hear if You give her time... Spare her, Great Mother, so she can grow to be the
one who speaks for You.

Then the hoofs
passed across her body and broke it, and she ceased to know at all.

High in the tree,
Zena felt an uncontrollable tremor pass through her body.  She shook her
head, bewildered, and then she began to cry in huge, wrenching sobs.  She
did not know why she wept so suddenly, except that she was frightened, but she
could not make herself stop.  She wept and wept, as the wildebeests
crashed below her, and neither Sima nor Lotan could comfort her.

Finally, the
wracking sobs diminished.  Zena leaned her head against a branch in
exhaustion.  She lacked the strength to cry any longer, but the agony that
had unleashed her tears remained stubbornly lodged in her belly.  There
was a terrible feeling inside her, as if she had done something wrong, but she
did not know what it was.

And then she
remembered, so suddenly that her whole body stiffened in horror, and she almost
lost her grip on the tree.  This was the picture she had seen. It was the
Mother's picture.

She gasped, struggling
to breathe.  The Mother had tried to warn her, but she had not
listened.  Kalar - she had seen Kalar running, but then she had pushed the
vision away, and now there was no way to know what had happened, if she could
have helped.  Why, why had she not listened to the Mother?

Zena pounded her
fists against the tree, desperate with fear and guilt.  Were they all
dead?  Was that she had such a terrible, sick feeling in her belly?

She did not know,
could not tell.  She could see nothing but the furry backs of animals,
writhing and seething below her.  Billowing clouds of thick dust,
colorless in the fading light, obscured everything else - the clearing, the
trees, even the sky.  She could not hear either.  All other sounds
were lost beneath the overwhelming rush of pounding hoofs, the brutal
bellowing, the dreadful screams as fallen animals were trampled, the thick
sound of gasping breath as the wildebeests ran and ran and ran. 

For hours they
passed.  Wave after wave of them surged across the river, through the
clearing.  Some, blinded by dust, charged into the woods.  Trees
shook and branches fell.  They swerved in a body, to find their way out
again, leaving a trail of devastation behind them.  Others crashed
drunkenly into the shelter.  The high wall of thorns stopped the first
animals that hit it; they fell to their knees, their bones shattered and their
skin lacerated.  Their fellows kept on going, using the fallen animals as
a bridge to go up and over the formidable barrier.  Screams filled the
air, closer now, and Zena could not tell if they came from the wildebeests or
from her tribe-mates.  She pulled Sima's head close against her chest to
drown out the terrible noises.