CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (62 page)

Warmth filled her
as she remembered.  One day, as she had grieved over the child not yet
born, Conar had taken her hand and brought her with him to another place deep
inside the earth, just beyond the huge cave filled with needles they had first
found. 

He had drawn her
down beside him on a moss-covered patch of earth.  There he had pulled all
the wrongness from her body with his gentle, loving hands, had caressed her
over and over until she felt herself flooded with life and joy.  They had
lingered so long that the stone lamps had sputtered and gone out, so that once
again, they had to find their way through the tunnels in darkness.  But by
then, they had traversed them many times, and knew them so well they could
laugh at their dilemma.

The pleasure of
remembrance made Zena's body tingle.  Akat in all its forms was surely the
Mother's finest gift.  And that day, they had experienced every form she
could imagine, except perhaps Akate.  But if lust was not there, all else
was.  At first, she had felt mostly Akatale in the tenderness of Conar's
embrace.  Slowly, this feeling had merged into the slow sensuousness of
Akatelo, a sensuousness that grew until it was so intense they could hardly
bear it, just as the glowing embers of a fire grew redder and redder until they
burst into flames.  Later, after they had rested, the sensations had
swelled into the perfect ecstasy of Akatelelo, Akat so spiritual, so totally 
encompassing that anyone who had experienced it never forgot.  Then, they
had felt truly one with the Mother.  And in the end, as they had laughed
together in the darkness, there had been Akato, full of play and childlike
wonder. 

After that time,
she had begun to live fully again, to trust that the Mother would show her the
way.  Conar had made this possible, Zena knew, but it was also Akat,
especially Akatelelo, that had defeated the pain inside her, for then the
Mother had entered her body, replacing the pain with joy.

The joy was still
there.  Zena felt it strong and warm, deep in her belly.  It was as
if the Mother had entered her again as she thought of her time with
Conar.  Never before had Zena felt Her presence so strongly.  The
Mother, the Goddess, was inside her, all around her...

Zena
stiffened.  The Mother had something to tell her.  Soon, She would
speak, but this time She would not speak of violence.   She wanted to
speak of Akat, except it was not quite Akat, but something more than Akat,
something even greater.

That was it! 
The Mother wished to speak of the new life that could come with Akat, if She
willed it.  She wanted Zena to think of this, to focus her mind on the
miracle that brought new life to the tribe.

Zena settled her
mind.  There were many steps, all perfect and precise, in this act of
creation.  First, a man entered a woman through the strong, narrow passage
she held so secretly between her legs.  If a child should form, it lived
for many moons in the dark comfort of its mother's womb.  Zena saw it
there, floating serenely in its watery home, listening to the sound of its
mother's heartbeat, but seeing nothing except the darkness.  She watched
it grow; each day it was bigger, stronger, until finally it was too big, and it
kicked and twisted, trying to find comfort in the confining space. 
Another moon passed, and now the infant was so big it could barely move at
all.  Only when its head was down, pressed against the mother's bones,
could it fit in its cramped enclosure.  It pushed and shoved against the
hard bones that blocked its passage, as if aware that finally it must emerge.

She saw the infant
begin to struggle, ready now to escape the warm, enclosing womb and emerge into
the unknown world that lay beyond, but the passage was narrow, too
narrow.  The baby's head was squeezed and pummeled, but still it pushed,
for there was no safety within any longer.  The turmoil increased as the
mother's body sought finally to expel the beloved burden.  Contractions
tore through the swollen belly; the mother writhed and twisted and moaned,
desperate now to get the infant out, to hold it in her arms, feel it there,
alive and warm against her breast.

Pain floated
around the laboring mother, darted inside and made her scream.  It churned
deep in her belly, in the bones, the skin that had to stretch too far, but she
pushed it away from her mind, just as she pushed the infant away from her
body.  If ever she let herself hold the pain, remember it, she would
suffer always.  She was woman, and the Mother had entrusted her with this
task, the hard, compelling task of bringing an infant forth.  It was
fraught with danger, but she was woman, and she would do it.  And when all
went well and the infant emerged, strong and healthy, she knew she would feel a
joy, an utter serenity, that came no other way.  There was power, too, in
this blessed act of creation, power that only a woman could know.  Formed
in the image of the Mother Herself, only woman could nurture new life within
her body, feel an infant grow there and struggle to be born, know that it was
her strength as well as the Mother's that allowed it to open its eyes for the
first time to the light. 

Zena looked up at
the light streaming into the cave.  It seemed to beckon her, as light must
beckon a newborn babe.  Her eyes traced the shimmering beam to the opening
high in the rocks from whence it came.  No member of the tribe had gone
there, for there was no way to reach that side of the cave except through the
deep black pool.  This, they did not wish to touch.  The pool was
sacred, for it was the womb that had nurtured the Mother Herself.  To
disturb its dark serenity seemed a violation. 

The light was
shining on the center of the pool.  Zena watched, entranced.  It
seemed to dance on the opaque surface, illuminating nothing beneath, only
spreading out in a wide, luminous circle.  She rose and went closer,
mesmerized by the hazy, dancing light, by the softly glistening water. 
Perhaps, after all, the Mother wanted her to touch it, to feel its womblike
fluidity.  She knelt and placed her hand gently against the velvety
blackness.  Ripples formed where her fingers met the water.  They
shimmered away from her to the center of the pool, where the light waited.

She must go toward
it, toward the light.  Zena was sure of it now.  The Mother wanted
her to enter the sacred womb from which She Herself had emerged, wanted Zena to
feel the power, the joy of the birth that had brought the Mother to them so
long ago.

Gently, she put a
foot into the black water.  It was soft and warm, and smelled faintly of
something familiar that she could not name.  She placed her other foot
beside the first.  The ripples moved farther this time, drifting lazily
toward the opposite side of the pool, toward the narrow shaft of brilliance
that came from the outer world.  It was a signal, she thought.  The
answer she wanted was there, beyond the pool, where the light came
through. 

She took another
step, then another.  Slowly, the water deepened around her.  She felt
no fear, only a kind of ecstasy.  The dark water seemed to embrace her, as
if it had been waiting for her.  She smiled, loving the sensation of
softness and comfort.  Now she knew the smell.  It was the scent of
her own body, the fluids that came from her when she embraced a man in Akat.

The pool was the
Mother's creation as well as Her womb, she realized suddenly.  The Mother
had been born of Herself, for She was all there was.  She had created the
deep black water even as it had nourished Her, had created the sacred chamber
that was Her home.  She had created everything they knew, the earth and
skies and all that lay within them, even as they had given Her birth.  Now
she, Zena, must experience that birth.  Like a child too big for its
mother's body, she must struggle through the dark water, find her way out to
the light.  The Mother would speak through the light, and she must go
there to hear Her voice. 

The water lapped
gently at her belly, her breasts.  She went farther.  Abruptly, there
was nothing beneath her feet.  For a moment, her mind flashed back to the
time when she had crossed the river, and fear stiffened her limbs.  But
then she felt the water holding her, as if she were no more than a leaf that
had dropped on its surface.  She lay quietly and waited.  Slowly, the
water moved her into the center of the pool.  The light bathed her face,
made her blink in its brilliance.  It seemed to examine her, ask if she
were ready.  And then it disappeared.

Suddenly, there
was turbulence all around her.  Ominous rumblings sounded deep within the
pool, and an explosion of movement shoved her rudely in one direction, then
another, as the water shifted and tumbled, oblivious to her presence.  She
was helpless against it.  Now she was being squeezed, so that her limbs,
her head, ached with the pressure.  Slowly, relentlessly, the pool drew
itself around her in an ever tighter embrace.  It seemed not to be water
now but to be solid, like the rocks.

She drew in a huge
breath as the squeezing water that was as heavy as the rocks pulled her down,
whirled her body over itself so that her head was facing toward the bottom of
the pool.  Down she went, down and down and down.

There was
darkness, only darkness, smooth and black.  It smothered her, but then she
seemed gradually to spread out in it, so that she was huge, as encompassing as
the darkness itself.  A pinpoint of light appeared in the middle of the
blackness and slowly expanded until the pool was saturated with strong, glowing
light.  The light entered her body, filled the cave, seemed to fill the
whole earth.

And then she
knew.  She knew everything that had ever been known, everything that had
ever been thought by those who had come before her, those who would come after. 
All of it was here, in the deep pool that was both dark and light, both water
and rock, that held her gently and pummeled her into its depths.  This
sacred place that was the Mother's womb, the Mother's creation, was more even
than that, just as the Mother Herself was more than life.  The pool was
wisdom, a vast reservoir of wisdom, deep and unending, like the Mother Herself.

She saw the earth,
the waters, the moon and stars, the sun, the precious sun, moving in their
spheres.  They were one, even as they were separate; they moved together
in endless rhythms that ordered the days, the nights, the storms and times of
calm.  Every leaf that ever fell, each massive tree or tiny insect or
hungry animal was connected to the sun, the moon, the waters.  Each star
that lit the sky, each drop of rain that dampened the ground knew each other
intimately, for they were one.  Even the opposites were one: women and
men, darkness and light, fluid and solid, the calm and the storm; they were all
one, for they were nothing but movement, unceasing movement that was perfectly
still even as it soared and swayed and danced.

The wisdom came to
Zena through her eyes, her ears, her skin, and she drew it lovingly into her
body, her heart and mind.  It was hers now, an integral part of her being,
and she knew it would never leave her.  Complex and mysterious, it was
infinitely simple in its oneness.  Chaos - all was chaos even as it was as
ordered as the movements of the sun.  It was perfect; all was perfect.

As abruptly as it
had seized her, the water let her go.  It thrust her up in a great
churning movement; she felt herself propelled across the pool, feared she would
hit her head on the rocks beyond.  Her hands reached out to soften the
blow.  They felt the rock, clung to it, as the water dropped her gently on
a boulder.  Light streamed into the cave again, the water was as still and
dark as if nothing had ever happened.

Zena took a deep,
calming breath.  The light was above her now, directly above her. 
She was almost there.

Slowly, she pulled
herself up the steeply layered rocks until she had reached the narrow opening
that led to the outer world.  She passed through it, hardly daring to look
out.  And then she could not look, for sunlight dazzled her eyes and she
had to close them.  When she opened them again, she gasped in
recognition.  Before her lay the open space high in the cliffs, the place
where something waited.  Finally, the Mother had shown her the way. 

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

Pulot burst into
the clearing, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement.  She had discovered
something truly special for the children.  They clustered around her,
chattering excitedly.

Full-grown now,
Pulot had young ones of her own, but she still loved to play like a child, and
could keep the children entertained for hours at a time.  She was a
wonderful help, Zena thought to herself, responsible and caring, but so lively
and eager too.

A wide grin split
Pulot's flushed face.  She stood still, struggling to bring her mouth back
to its normal position.  When the grin had disappeared, she lifted a
slender reed to her lips and blew.  A thin, breathy sound emerged. 
She blew harder, and a stronger sound pierced the air.  The children
clapped and jumped up and down, begging for a turn.

Delighted at their
enthusiastic response, Pulot began to strut around the clearing, piping as she
went.  She did not see the look of horror that had suddenly crossed
Menta's face, but Zena saw it and frowned.  Why should Pulot's new game
cause Menta such distress?

Lune rose and went
to sit beside Menta.  The fear was on her face, too, Zena saw.  And
then she remembered.  It was the vision, Menta's vision, so long
ago.  In the vision, there were people, people like themselves, sitting
around a fire, and one of them was blowing on a reed, making a sound like the
one Pulot was making.  And after that had come the screams...

Surely, though,
the fact that Pulot had found a new way to entertain the children did not mean
that Menta's vision would come true.  There had been no violence now in
all the years since Tron had left.  Zena had to remind herself constantly
of the mission the Mother had entrusted to her, to keep the violence from
coming.  It was hard to know how to do such a thing when there was no one
around who wished to harm them.