CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (37 page)

Excitement and
fear revived his flagging strength, and as soon as he emerged from the woods,
he broke into a run.  The sudden movement woke Clio, and she began to cry
again.  Her screams pierced the quiet night.  Over and over, she
screamed, then settled into a steady, monotonous crying.

A different scent
came unexpectedly to Kropor's sensitive nostrils.  It was fire!  He
smelled fire!  They must be ahead somewhere.  He staggered toward the
smell, not stopping even when he twisted his ankle sharply.  He had run
now for two days without food, and he dared not stop lest he fall and be unable
to get up again.

The smell of fire
grew stronger.  Then he saw it, glowing in a nearby clump of trees. 
A figure sprang up against the fire.  Another figure appeared, then
another.  Kropor ran toward them, too exhausted even to call out, but
through his daze, he heard them calling, heard them shouting Clio's name.

The fire was close
now, right in front of him.  Kropor stood still and held out the bundle in
his arms.  He was conscious of Clio's weight disappearing as hands reached
out to take her from him.  Then he swayed and fell to the ground. 

Confusion
surrounded him.  He heard voices, felt someone press a gourd to his
lips.  The soothing water ran down his throat and across his face. 
Another sound broke though his stupor.  It was Clio's voice.  She was
calling for him with the odd little croak she had developed, to let him know
she needed him.  He struggled up and went to her.

She reached for
his hand and clutched it, refusing to let go.  Kropor held it
gladly.  Someone moved beside him, and he saw that it was Zena, examining
Clio.  His terrified eyes searched her face, seeking reassurance.

"She is all
right," Zena assured him.  "Her leg is broken, and she has
knocked her head hard. But she will live."

A great sigh
escaped Kropor's lips.  Clio would not die.  She would not disappear,
as Ralak had, and leave him alone, with no one to care for.  Zena had said
she would live, and so she would.  Perhaps he had kept her safe, after
all.  Still holding Clio's hand, he lay down beside her to rest, his big,
stooped body curved protectively around the tiny child.

Zena stared down
at them, trying to understand.  Somehow, Ralak's strange little one had
penetrated Kropor's grief, as he had penetrated her isolation.  She had
never seen Clio reach out to hold a hand before, or call to anyone, and never
before had she seen Kropor's eyes brimming with tenderness, except for
Ralak.  How had they become so attached to each other?

Lotan's hand
touched her shoulder.  "You were right," he confessed, his voice
thick with emotion.  "The Mother was watching Clio, and that is why
you felt peace.  She sent Clio to Kropor, so he could keep her safe."

Zena nodded,
thinking that the Mother's ways were surely wondrous.  Then, unexpectedly,
Ralak's face appeared in her mind, eclipsing thoughts of the Mother.  Zena
saw her as clearly as if Ralak were standing before her.  She was smiling
and her eyes glittered with mischief.  Her mouth opened in speech, and
although her words made no sound, Zena heard them distinctly.

"Kropor
needed another one to love," she said.  "And Clio needed
help.  So, here they are!" 

Ralak's face
disappeared.  Zena began to laugh, and Lotan looked at her,
frowning.  How could she laugh at such a time?

Zena glanced at
him apologetically.  "The Mother's ways can be remarkable," she
told him, "especially when Ralak helps Her."

Lotan did not look
convinced, but his joy at seeing Clio again quickly drove all other thoughts
from his mind.  He stared down at the sleeping child.  Zena had given
her herbs to drink, to quiet her and lessen the pain.  She was scratched
and bloody, and she smelled like an animal.  Lotan wrinkled his
nose.  Clio hated being washed, but he would have to wash her anyway, as
soon as the light came again.  The smell was very strong.

They lingered in
the area for two more days, while Zena treated Clio's leg and Kropor recovered
his strength.  No one wanted to travel anyway.  They were too excited
by the miracle of Clio's and Kropor's return.  Sima kept hugging Clio over
and over, despite her objections, and Toro gazed at Kropor with longing in her
eyes.  Once, they went off together to mate, but Kropor did not linger
long, and soon returned to Clio's side.  Still, Toro looked happier than
she had since the big male's disappearance.

By the third day,
they were ready to set out again.  Kropor hoisted Clio into his arms. 
She tolerated her position for a few hours, then she began to struggle, trying
to get down.  Her leg did not hurt now and she wanted to walk. 
Kropor tried to calm her, but she only wriggled harder, screaming
furiously.  Unable to hold on to her any longer, he put her down, looking
baffled.

Zena stared at
Clio in exasperation.  She had become increasingly restless as their
journey was delayed, and she was anxious to move on.  Must they stay in
one place until Clio's leg healed?  Surely, there must be a way to carry
her that would not bother her so much.

She scanned the
area, seeking inspiration.  Her eyes lit on Three-Legs.  Clio adored
her, as she adored all animals.  Perhaps she would sit on the gazelle's
back.  Three-Legs was strong now, and big enough to hold a child as tiny
as Clio.  But would the gazelle tolerate her presence?

She led Three-Legs
over to Clio and let the child rub her hands against the soft fur, as she loved
to do.  Then she put a leash around the gazelle's neck and handed it to
Sima.

"Hold her
still," she instructed.  Sima nodded confidently.  Three-Legs
followed her now, as she had once followed Zena, and Sima could always calm her
down.

Moving slowly,
Zena picked Clio up and placed her on the small gazelle's back, so that one leg
hung down each side.  Three-Legs jumped skittishly, but Sima rubbed her
nose and uttered soothing noises, and she quickly stilled.

Clio's body went
rigid.  Her eyes opened wide in astonishment and her face puckered as if
she were going to scream.  But it was not a scream that emerged. 
Instead, Clio laughed, a small, croaking sound that they knew was a laugh
because her normally expressionless eyes lit up with glee.  She was part
of an animal now.  She could touch it any time she wanted, and it would
not run away.

The others shook
their heads in amazement.  Kropor, however, looked worried, and went to
stand next to Clio so he could catch her if she fell.  But Clio had no
intention of relinquishing her new position, and held on firmly.  She rode
Three-Legs as if she belonged there, and her whole body radiated delight.

The small
procession set off once more.  Zena and Bran strode in front, leading the
way.  Behind them came Sima, holding Three-Legs, with Clio on top and
Kropor close beside.  Nyta and Toro and Metep clustered around them,
carrying the little ones, and Lotan and Lupe guarded from the rear.

Every day, they
proceeded in this fashion.  They started at dawn, while the air was cool
and refreshing, and walked until the sun was high.  During the hottest
part of the day, they sought shade under one of the wide-crowned trees that
dotted the plains, then they walked again until dusk, gathering food as they
went.  At night, they sheltered in a clump of trees or near a pile of
boulders, with fire to protect them.  They brought burning sticks with
them as they traveled, but the knowledge that they could create a new fire if
all the sticks burned out was immensely reassuring.  Everywhere they went,
they looked for the special stones that gave off sparks, and saved them in
their baskets.

Only twice did
they stop for more than a night or a few hours of rest.  The first delay
came when Three-Legs spotted a herd of gazelles like herself.  All during
their time in the woods, she had seen no other gazelles, and Zena thought she
had forgotten about them.  She was wrong.  Once Three-Legs had
spotted the herd, she was uncontrollable.  Wrestling the leash from Sima's
hands, she dashed forward, unseating Clio.  Fortunately, Kropor was close
and caught Clio before she hit the ground, already screaming with
indignation.  This was her special perch, and she did not want it to go
away.

But Three-Legs
could not be stopped.  She disappeared among the gazelles, still trailing
the leash behind her.  Later, Zena saw her mating, and wondered at the
strength of this impulse.  It was mating, more than a desire for the
company of her own kind, that had once again drawn Three-Legs to the herd.

They waited all
the following day and the next, hoping the gazelle would return as she had
before.  And just as they were preparing to sleep the second day, she
trotted back to them as if nothing had happened.  Zena tethered her, so
she would not leave again, but the mating seemed to have satisfied her, and she
made no further effort to rejoin the herd.

The second
enforced stop came when Nyta's infant was born.  The birth was easy and
Nyta did not suffer, but Zena knew immediately that something was terribly
wrong with the infant.  The tiny boy's head was misshapen, and his limbs
were not fully formed.  Worse, he seemed to be in pain.  His tiny
face was puckered in agony, and he was gasping for breath.

Sorrowfully, she
handed him to Nyta.  Tears streamed down the older woman's face as she
looked at her newborn son, but she recovered quickly and handed him back to
Zena.

"He
suffers," she whispered, still weak from the birth.  "We must
send him back to the Mother.  He cannot live, but we must not let him
suffer."

Zena nodded. 
Holding the infant tenderly in the crook of one arm, she placed her hand over his
mouth and nose until he stopped breathing, as she had seen Kalar do long ago,
when an infant like this had been born.  To let an infant suffer was
unforgivable.  That was not the Mother's way.

"Great
Mother, Giver of All Life," she said quietly, "take this little one
back to Your heart. Though he has no name, we cared for him, and our caring
goes with him.  Nyta loved him most of all, for she carried him under her
heart for many moons.  Now he is with You again, and will suffer no
more.  For that, we are grateful."

The others
gathered around as she placed the dead infant among a clump of rocks and
covered him with branches.  To lose a child was sad, but to keep one that
suffered and would not live anyway was wrong.  It was the job of a wise
one to help an infant like this return to the Mother as quickly as possible,
and they were glad Zena was with them to do it.

When Nyta felt
strong enough, they resumed their journey, traveling slowly but steadily,
always with the rising sun on their right, the setting sun on their left, as
Zena had seen them in her vision. 

One day, as she
lifted Clio onto her perch, Zena was surprised to see that Three-Legs' belly
was beginning to swell.  Could the Mother have given her another young
one?  Once before, not long after she had disappeared the first time, she
had given birth, but the calf had not been strong and had died within a few
hours.  Three-Legs had stood over it all day, as if mourning: then she had
seemed to forget about it and had come back to Zena.

It seemed strange
to Zena that each time a calf began to grow inside Three-Legs, she had recently
run off to be with other gazelles.  Could mating have something to do with
it?  The Mother had placed a young one in her belly not long after she had
first mated with Lotan.  But that did not make sense.  How could
mating be connected to infants or calves? 

Zena puzzled over
the enigma, but no solution came to her, and after a while she gave up thinking
about it.  Other, more immediate concerns demanded her attention, as the
land became drier, the way more difficult.  But her mind did not
relinquish the question entirely.  The possibility that mating and young
ones were somehow connected lingered just below the level of conscious
awareness, as if waiting for the time when she would fully understand.

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

For fifteen
million years, tons of burning rock smoldered and shuddered deep within the
earth's molten womb, until finally they forced two great land masses to split
apart.  Thus was the Great Rift Valley of Africa born.  Longer and
wider than any valley in the world, it dominated the landscape, influenced all
the life forms in eastern Africa.

Hot beyond
imagining, the viscous mass poured in triumph through the giant trough it had
so relentlessly labored to create.  The triumph was short-lived, for as it
hit the air, the cooling lava hardened and shrank, then cracked in pieces, so
that more of the molten stuff could squeeze through.  Again, it cooled,
again it cracked.  Over and over, the lava poured through and cooled and
cracked, until all the land was broken into massive, separate chunks. 

As if sliced by a
giant hand, some of the huge pieces tumbled into gaping holes left by the
escaping lava.  Falling even below the level of the sea, they formed vast
deserts of unendurable heat.  Over the eons of time, oceans moved in to
cover the places where the land had sunk; then they slowly retreated. 
Wide stretches of gray-white plains, and enormous salt formations that looked
for all the world like waves and foam that had been ossified and left to die,
lay exposed behind them.  Brackish grasses shimmered in the heat, and hot
springs bubbled up, death to any that came mistakenly to drink. 

On either side of
the baking plains, the red-hot rock pushed far into the air to create high
plateaus and jagged peaks, black as the lava that had formed them.  The
rivers came then and poured between the plateaus, eroding their sides into
escarpments so steep no vegetation could take root.  The erosion came
faster, the escarpments became steeper, until chasms thousands of feet deep
prevented any creature but a bird from traveling between them.  But from
the valley floor, the plateaus were accessible.  There, they sloped up
gradually, and trees and grasses grew in abundance on their gentle hillsides,
luring the unwary traveler.  Their promise was deceptive, for the land
soon split again and there was nothing to be seen below but another deep cleft,
impossible to cross.