CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (43 page)

"You gave me
great pleasure," she told him earnestly.  "Much, much
pleasure."

Knowledge that she
was speaking the truth showed in his face.  He closed his eyes in relief.

"I have
wanted to be with you, to please you," he told her.  "I wanted
that very much.  But I have little experience."

"You do not
need it.  You are a wonderful lover," she answered frankly, certain
that he would not use the flattery to boast to the other men.  He was not
that type.

His face lit up
like a child's when one of the big males tossed it gently into the air. 

"Thank
you," he said simply.  Then, as if still doubtful, he added, 
"I was afraid I would disappoint you."

Zena widened her
eyes in mock horror.  "If you had given me any more pleasure, I might
have exploded."

He laughed
impulsively, and Zena laughed with him.  She stood and offered him her
hand as she turned to leave.

"We will come
back here soon again," she promised.  But she knew, as he did, that
they would have to wait at least a week, lest the other men sense
favoritism.  Still, she meant to keep her promise as soon as she
could.  He
was
her favorite, for a lover, even if she could not
admit it publicly.  His body might be small, but his ability to give
pleasure was not.

They wandered back
to the resting place, hand in hand, but as they came closer, Zena untangled her
fingers from Conar's and went on ahead of him.  It was best not to be too
public about her affairs.  She liked to handle them in private.

Languorously, she
dropped onto a sun-drenched rock to rest.  Sleep overcame her.  She
dreamed of a place she had never seen, far to the west where mountains rose
high and white beyond craggy foothills.  In her dream, she and Conar were
walking in deep tunnels that twisted in labyrinthine patterns beneath the
earth.  They came to a narrow passage that went through the rocks, and
although she had never seen beyond it, she knew it led to a large open space.
Conar disappeared, but she went on alone, for she was about to discover
something, something important that waited for her in the open space.

Voices woke her
just before she went through the passage.  Disappointed, she sat up, ready
to protest.  Her annoyance, and all remnants of sleep, dropped from her as
she listened.  It was her mother speaking, and her tone was harsh,
compelling.

"It cannot be
that we allow this," she said.  "All the tribe will
suffer.  He must be banished."

Banished.
 
The word rang in Zena's ears.  Who would be banished, and why? 
Banishment was a terrible punishment.  To her knowledge, it had happened
only once before, when a man called Kort had tried to force himself on a woman.
He had not succeeded, for she had screamed and the others had stopped him, but
even the attempt was an unthinkable act.  Always, it was up to a woman to
initiate Akat and to choose a mate, for only she knew when she was ready and
willing.  That a man should usurp the women's prerogative was truly beyond
understanding.  Zena felt herself grow hot with indignation. 

She shook
herself.  She had no knowledge of what had happened.  And she should
not listen without revealing her presence.  She slid from the rock and
went into the clearing.

"Greetings,"
she said to her mother, Lune.  "I could not help but hear your
words.  What has happened?"

Before she
answered, Lune looked questioningly at her sister, Menta, who was the tribe's
wise woman.  Menta and Lune had been born at the same time, but they were
very different in temperament.  Menta was slow and wise, while Lune was
quick and passionate.  That was why Menta, rather than Lune, had been
chosen as wise woman when their mother had died.  Besides, Lune was
medicine woman, the one who knew how to heal.  Healing was her natural
talent, just as Menta's talent was visionary.  She could see far beyond
what others saw, into time that had not yet come, and time that had passed long
before any in the tribe were born.

"Zena can be
told," Menta assured Lune.  "All will hear soon.  All must
express their feelings before we decide."

"It is
Tron,"  Zena's mother explained, her voice still shaking with
anger.  "He has taken Pila into the woods without her consent, and
now she is crying and in pain.  He thinks he can do such things because he
is strong and kills many bison."

"But that is
terrible!"  Profoundly shocked, Zena sought for better words to
express her feelings.  "Pila is too small.  I do not think she
has had even one bleeding."

"No,"
Menta answered.  "She was not ready."  Compassion, and
suffering, filled her voice.

Zena hugged her,
understanding her pain as wise woman.  It was Menta who felt most
responsible for the welfare of the tribe, she who would have to make the final
decision about banishment.  Kort had  been banished for only a few
months; then he had been permitted to return.  But his crime was not as
great, and he had changed his ways.  If Tron had really forced himself on
Pila, he might be banished forever.  That, too, seemed almost
unthinkable.  How would he live without the others? 

Perhaps, though,
the tribe would be better without him.  Zena recoiled at the unkind
thought.  Still, there was truth in it.  Tron was different from the
other men.  They sometimes became angry or fought among themselves, but
they were also kind and loving.  Tron was not.  He did not seem to
care for anyone.  Even as a child, he had wanted to fight more than
anything else, and he seemed almost to take pleasure in hurting others. 
All of them had tried hard to be kind to him so he would change, but it had not
helped.  Zena realized abruptly that she had never liked Tron.  His
face had a sullen, brooding expression, and when she had mated with him he had
been rough and uncaring of her pleasure.  She had thought at the time that
he simply lacked knowledge.  But perhaps it was not his nature to be
kind. 

Menta seemed to
hear her thoughts.  "Sometimes," she said quietly, "a man
or woman is born who is not kind.  There is no kindness in such a person,
no matter how hard we try to find it with our own kindness to them.  It
just is not there.  It may be that Tron is one of those.  We will see
what the others think."

She turned to
Lune. "Summon the people," she instructed.  "We must go
into council before the sun sets."  Everyone in the tribe was a
member of the council, and all must be present at the meeting to help make a
decision.

"Go to Pila
and comfort her," she told Zena.  "Have her tell you what happened,
if she can do that."

Zena and Lune ran
to do her bidding.  Normally, Menta would not tell any other what to do,
but when she assumed her role as wise woman, all of them obeyed her without
question. 

Zena found Pila
weeping quietly in a corner near the cooking fire.  Truly, she was little
more than a child.  Her mother, Bly, was crooning softly to her and
soothing her small, bony shoulders with caressing hands. 

"Menta has
sent me,"  Zena explained.  She knelt beside Pila. 
"The Mother has not forgotten you," she told her.  "That is
not what happened.  You are still part of Her.  It is Tron who is not
part of Her.  He has lost Her by this act."

Her words seemed
to reach Pila, for she looked up with a grave face and reached for Zena's hand.

Zena was not certain
why these were the words that had come to her, but she knew they were truthful,
and that Pila needed to hear them.  To be so violated must have damaged
her good feelings about herself, as well as hurting her body.  And without
good feelings about herself, she could not feel close to the goodness of the
Mother.  It must be hard for Pila to understand that what had happened to
her did not make her less good in the Mother's eyes, or in the eyes of anyone
in the tribe. 

"Can you be
strong enough to tell us what happened?"  Zena asked the question
tenderly, hating to rush the child, but aware that Menta needed to know Pila's
story as soon as possible.

Pila nodded
bravely.  "I was searching for mushrooms in the woods, and Tron came
upon me there.  He did not speak.  He just pushed me over and went
inside me, and it hurt terribly.  Then he shook all over and got up and
went away."

She looked up at
her mother with dubious eyes.  "Does Akat always hurt that
badly?"

Bly hastened to
reassure her.  "No, Pila, there is no hurt when you are ready. 
Do not worry.  It will not be like this again.  When you choose it,
Akat gives great pleasure."

Despite her firm
words, there was no certainty in Bly's face.  She looked up at Zena
sadly.  Zena could sense what she was thinking.  Would Pila truly
learn to enjoy Akat again, after this experience?  Would she not always be
a little afraid, so that the pleasure was dampened?  Akat was the supreme
gift of the Mother, the gift She had given them to so their lives would be filled
with harmony and that special kind of joy.  To take such a gift from Pila
was surely a monstrous crime.

Zena felt herself
grow hot again with anger.  Determinedly, she forced it away.  Anger
must not guide her judgment.  To help Menta decide what was best, she must
think clearly.  A good decision, she knew, would not harm anyone, but
benefit them all, even Tron, if that was possible.  She sighed
deeply.  At the moment, she could not imagine how that could be
done.  But if she listened hard, the Mother would surely show her the way.

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

The tribe gathered
just before sunset in the sacred circle of stones.  The big, rounded rocks
had been placed there long ago by the ancient ones who had come before
them.  Year after year, they had spoken to the Mother and performed Her
rituals within the circle, and now Her presence was very strong.  Zena saw
the knowledge on each face as the people filed into the glen.  They bent
their heads toward the ground, then raised them to the sky, to acknowledge the
Goddess, the one they called Mother among themselves.  Their shoulders
straightened as their determination to live by Her ways, to make decisions as
She would make them, was strengthened. 

Thirty people were
in the tribe, and finding all of them had not been easy.  Many had been
out gathering food, and Katli and a few men had gone hunting.  Most women
stopped hunting, at least for a time, when they had young ones.  But Katli
had never stopped.  As soon as she recovered from each birth, she strode
off with the men, leaving her infants with her sisters, who loved them dearly
and always seemed to have breasts hanging heavy with milk.  Katli knew as
much about the movements and habits of animals as the most experienced hunters,
and they welcomed her participation.  The animals, too, seemed to welcome
her, as if sensing her devotion.  They did not run so fast and died easily
when Katli was there.  Always, she blessed them and thanked them for
giving their lives so graciously.

And of course,
Zena thought, they did not really die.  Like those who hunted them, the
animals were a part of the Mother's unending cycle of life and death and
renewal.  One day, they would be born again, to run across the plains and
eat of its rich harvest.

When they were all
assembled, Menta stood to speak.  She was a small woman with long, flowing
black hair, but when she became the Mother's representative, she seemed larger
than even the men.

"Great
Goddess, Mother of all,"  she said gravely, "we fear a crime
against You has brought bad feelings to this tribe.  The bad feelings
churn in all of us, and make us less able to know Your joy and goodness. 
We seek to resolve these feelings, for if we are to recognize Your way, we must
have peace within us. 

"Guide our
thoughts as we seek truth, our judgment as we make a decision.  Help us to
keep love in our hearts even when they are heavy with pain, wisdom in our minds
even as anger confuses us, for that is the way of the Mother."

The people nodded,
agreeing that  they would try to abide by the Mother's way as they came to
a decision.  They listened attentively as Menta told them the story,
though most of them knew it already.  The terrible news had traveled
fast.  Sadness replaced anger in many of their faces as Menta spoke,
sadness that such a thing could happen among them.  Tron had violated all
of them, not just Pila. 

Zena glanced at
him.  He looked furious, not contrite.  When Menta told how he had
crept up behind Pila and forced himself on her, he grunted harshly and leaped
to his feet.

"She wanted
that," he burst out in an aggrieved tone.  "She was crouched
there, waiting." 

A low rumble of
protest sprang from the crowd.  Menta held up a hand for silence. 

"She wanted
that..." she murmured, as if to herself.  Eyes narrowed, she asked
Tron to explain.

He shrugged. 
"I saw it in her face, when she looked at me."

Menta stared at
him, frowning.  Then she turned toward Katli.  "Tell me,
Tron.  What is in Katli's face right now?"

Tron shook his
head angrily.  "I cannot tell," he muttered.  "Perhaps
she is thinking of the hunt."  In fact, Katli's face was suffused
with disgust. 

"Tell me,
then, what is in Bly's face," Menta asked.

Tron looked
reluctantly at Bly.  "She is angry," he retorted.  But
there was no anger in Bly's face, only grief.

The people began
to murmur impatiently, eager to get on with making a decision.  Surely
Tron was not telling the truth, anyway.  Everyone could read what was
written in others' faces.

Menta
persisted.  "What do you see in Zena's face?"

"Oh, she is
just paying no attention,"  Tron snapped.  His eyes raked Zena's
face, and he sneered contemptuously. 

Menta's frown
deepened.  As the others had noted, Zena was listening to the proceedings
with intense concentration.  Menta stood perfectly still for many moments,
her eyes focused on Tron, as if she were seeing deep within him.