CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (8 page)

Numb with grief
and weariness, she crouched against a blackened stump to rest. Her eyes closed
involuntarily, then opened again in surprise as the infant woke and pulled
eagerly at her breast.  In her searching, she had almost forgotten her
tiny daughter.

The baby's
suckling reminded her that she was hungry.  But the unforgiving landscape
did not offer much hope of food.  She could see no greenness, no sign of
life anywhere around her. Heat and wind had blasted the leaves from the trees;
fire had left the earth bereft of plants and bushes.  The smell of
scorched wood and damp soot was overwhelming.

Zena shuddered.
How could she survive in such a place?  No warmth came from the sun. No
berries grew; there was no pond with bulbs, no fields with tubers to dig. 
None of these things were here.  Perhaps they did not exist anywhere
now.  She had seen them burning below her. 

She sat up
suddenly.  Perhaps the pond, at least, was still there.  She could go
back.  Maybe Screech had gone back when he could not find her.

The image of
Screech waiting at the pond gave her courage, and a purpose. 
Determinedly, she clambered up a large boulder near the top of the hill that
commanded a good view of the area.  Twice, she fell back, for the rock was
slick with soot.  But she kept trying, driven by an overwhelming need to
see if the place that had sheltered her for so long might offer refuge once again,
if Screech could possibly be there.

The sight that
greeted her was devastating.  Lava, black and lifeless, stretched as far
as she could see in every direction. Nothing moved on all that vast space,
except steam rising from the hardening rock.  The lava had poured into the
long valley below her refuge, obliterating every sign of the abundance that had
once flourished there, had spewed up the hills and through the passages between
them, had even spread beyond the deep ravine that lay between her and the high
plateau she had seen when she had climbed to the top of the ridge with Screech.

Zena's body
slumped in utter desolation.  She could not go back, and Screech would not
be at the pond.  There was no pond.  Only a small, ash-filled puddle
remained in the spot where it had once glittered in the sunlight.  There
were no grasses, no bushes, no life at all.  Even the trees by the river
had gone, instantly cremated by the fiery flow.

She could look no
longer.  Sobs shook her body, and cold fear gripped her heart.  Flames
still leaped from the volcano, and she could hear it rumbling.  The menace
could come again, the burning arcs across the sky, the fires, the moving
blackness that was worse than fire, the tremors that made rocks crumble and the
ridge collapse.  All of it could come again.

She must leave,
must look for Screech and then leave as quickly as she could.  But where
could she go?  She raised her eyes again, to the high plateau.  Only
there could she still see the greenness of trees and grasses, the movements of
animals.

Tucking the infant
firmly against her hip, she slid down the boulder and began to walk in the
direction of the plateau.  Hope flared anew as she trudged across the
charred ground.  It was near this place that she had lost Screech. 
Surely now, in full daylight, she would find him.  She scoured the area
with her eyes and called to him constantly, listening for any unusual
sound.  But the woods were startlingly silent, almost devoid of
life.  Once, a snake slithered past, leaving a curved gray trail. 
Later, she almost ran into a pair of antelopes that had escaped the fires
below.  They jumped away from her and disappeared silently behind the
dense trees. 

As she neared the
ravine, a loud roaring made her frown in confusion.  The sound had not
been there last night.  Cautiously, she crept closer and then stood still
as understanding dawned. It was water, rushing water.  The storm had
turned the gorge into a turbulent, fast-moving river.  The sight filled
her with terror.  Her memory of the foaming river was dim, but her brain
and her body reacted instinctively.  Leaping away from the dangerous
current, she plodded reluctantly up the hill to look for another route to the
plateau.  For hours, she searched, but always she found herself back at
the ravine.  There was no way around it.  To get to the plateau she
would have to go through the raging water, but to do that was impossible.

Hopelessness
assailed her.  Sobbing uncontrollably, she collapsed in a heap on the
unyielding ground.  She was trapped here, stuck in this terrible place
without sun or sustenance or any sign of life, where huge trees menaced her
with their dark shapes and there was no sound, only silence and shadowy
darkness and the horrible stench of smoldering earth and damp ash.  And
she had not found Screech, would never find him now; he was gone, burned in the
fires or sucked into the raging water.

The infant's wails
roused her.  Zena looked down at the small face, unseeing, and stroked the
soft cheek with her fingertips.  Gradually her eyes focused, as a picture
of lush green grasses, of grazing animals, of trees and bushes laden with
fruit, arose in her mind. These things existed on the plateau; she had seen
them.  And the baby at least must live.

She rose wearily
and forced her legs back toward the flooded ravine. Somehow, she must get to
the plateau.  It was their only hope.  She walked and walked, looking
for a place to cross, but everywhere she saw only foaming rapids, water so
swift nothing could step into it without being knocked into the tumult.

Almost bereft of
strength now, she stumbled on.  A branch tripped her and she fell headlong
into the remains of a burned thicket.  As she pushed herself up again, her
hand met a round object that cracked under her weight. Surprised, she looked
down and saw a large egg; four other eggs lay beside it. The promise of food
intensified the pangs of hunger that had racked her all morning.  Eagerly,
she poked a fingernail through one of the shells and sucked.  Nothing came
out.  Too ravenous to wait, she tore at the shell.  It splintered
off, revealing another, softer egg inside. Zena sniffed it and then thrust it
into her mouth.  Its solidity puzzled her, but the taste was good. 
She ate the others and almost immediately felt stronger.

She went on, looking
constantly for any sign of Screech as well as a place to cross.  Once, a
scent caught at her nostrils as she stood looking at a big boulder that still
stuck up above the raging water.  The smell was familiar; it was not
Screech, but it was somehow like that.

The scent wafted
away before she could identify it.  And then the puzzle was driven from
her mind by the sight of a huge tree that had fallen across the ravine. 
Its massive trunk stretched far into the woods on both sides of the gorge, and
branches as thick as the trees she had known by the river thrust up all along
its length, creating an almost impenetrable thicket.  The trunk and all
its limbs were slippery with rain and the constant splash of seething water
that churned between boulders in the chasm below.

Zena stared at the
tree, terrified by the chance it offered. Tentatively, she touched the
trunk.  Her hand slid away.  She grasped one of the branches
above.  It, too, was slippery, but the plentiful smaller boughs that
sprouted from it kept her hand in place.  Slowly, she climbed up and
straddled the huge trunk.  Holding the infant close, she slid one thigh,
then the other, along the wet surface.

A thick, curved
limb barred her way.  Cautiously, she squeezed around it and straddled the
trunk on the other side.  A deep breath escaped her.  She had managed
to get past the obstacle.  But there was still earth beneath her.  If
she kept going, the churning river would be there instead.  She peered
into the ravine, to judge its depth, and shut her eyes in terror.  The
water charged between two boulders about ten feet below the tree, then shot
through a narrow crevice to create a seething cascade that roiled down a steep
fall of rocks. If she fell, she would never get out.

She began to slide
off.  She could not do this, dared not.  It was impossible...

She ceased to
think.  Without volition, her thighs held on to the trunk and began to
squeeze her forward.  She followed, hardly knowing what she did. 
Slowly, with terrible caution, she crept to the next branch that blocked her
way, ignoring the twigs that slapped at her face, the rough bark that tore at
her legs. 

The rapids rushed
below her, louder now, but she did not look down.  She could not. 
She looked only at the next branch, at the place she would grab as she swung
herself and the infant around the impediment.  Now she had to squeeze
through a narrow cleft where two large limbs made a sharp angle.  Slowly,
she pulled herself upright, clutching the baby under one arm and holding tightly
to a stout branch with her free hand.  She stepped through the gap. 
Her foot slid out from under her, and she fell heavily.  Terrified by the
sudden jolt, the infant screamed and wriggled wildly.  Zena held on to her
with frantic strength.  Her knees hit the sleek trunk, and she managed to
get her legs around it to clasp it once again.

Her whole body was
trembling, and she stopped for a moment to rest.  Before her was a long,
bare area, with no branches, not even any brush, to hold on to.  Only the
drenched and glossy trunk lay between her and the roiling water below. 
Beyond that, the main trunk of the tree rose high in the air, supported by
smaller branches that stretched to the ground.  Another, narrower trunk
seemed more level, but it did not rest as securely on the far bank.  Zena
stared at them, uncertain which to take, but when she got to the place where
the trunks divided, she had no choice.  To climb the larger one was
impossible.  It was too steep, so she ventured onto the smaller one. Forcing
her eyes to the opposite bank, she inched forward.  She was getting close
now.  Only a few more feet and she would be there.

Cautiously, she
began to pull herself upright to maneuver her way around a limb that rose
straight up from the middle of the trunk.  She never managed to stand, for
at just that moment the tree shifted. The branches that supported the larger
trunk gave way, and it plunged toward the ground.  Swaying horribly, the
smaller trunk dropped toward the water.

Zena screamed and
wrapped her legs convulsively around the plunging trunk. Bushes projected from
the top of the opposite bank. She grabbed desperately at them, but she was
jerked backward as the trunk fell, and they slithered from her fingers. The
movement knocked her off balance and almost wrenched the infant from her grasp.
The baby's body was slippery and stiff with fear, and Zena knew she could not
hold on to her much longer.  She would drop her soon, into the foaming
chasm...

With a momentous
effort, she raised her arms over her head as she straddled the sodden trunk,
and threw the infant toward the bushes.  Then she clung with all her
strength to the branch in front of her as the tree swung wildly above the
gorge. 

The trunk smashed
into the edge of the bank, halfway down the steep side of the ravine. 
Against her will, Zena's eyes were drawn to the seething water, so close now
that it splashed unceasingly against her face.  With demonic force, it
tried to dislodge her; it pulled relentlessly at her feet and careened over her
ankles, smashing into them as if reluctant to give way and part around
them. 

Dizzy with terror,
Zena closed her eyes.  When she opened them again, she moaned in
despair.  There was no escape.  Beside her, the side of the bank
curved sharply inward, hollowed out by the rushing water.  It was slick
with clay, impossible to climb.  The bushes were above her, far beyond her
reach.  There was no sound from the infant.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dak stalked
silently through the woods.  He had left the others crouched under a
boulder deep within the ravine.  They were safer there.  To flee any
farther from the blazing mountain tonight was dangerous.  They had been
walking for hours, ever since the mountain had exploded, but now the storm had
become so intense he dared not venture farther.  Trees were crashing all
around them, and the fire-reddened air was so heavy with smoke and dust they
could not see.  Besides, Myta was hampered by her two young ones, and
Rune, his mother, had slowed with age.  His young brother Klep was strong,
but his small legs were unaccustomed to walking all through the night.

He would be safer
in the ravine as well.  He had left it only because of the howling, the
terrible, grief-stricken cries that had torn at his chest as if he had uttered
them himself. He did not know what creature had made the anguished sounds, or
why, but they had seemed to lodge inside him.  Even after they had ceased,
they had pulled at him relentlessly, had drawn him from the gorge and compelled
him to walk through the raging storm to see if he could find their source.

A blazing shard
landed close by, igniting a bush.  Dak grabbed a stick and beat at the
flames until they were gone.  He did not want the fire to spread and make
it impossible for him to return to the others.  Some of the fire stayed in
the top of his stick.  He looked curiously at the glowing tip.  It
gave out light, so he kept it with him as he moved on. 

The land was
rising now under his feet.  He was at the far end of the ridge, where it
began to slope up steeply and curve south.  The area was unfamiliar to
him.  He and the others lived in the valley to the east, behind the
ridge.  They seldom climbed up the steep hill, for the leopard hunted
there.  It had taken his sister, Apar, when she had ventured up one day to
look for fruit, and had stayed into the evening hours.  Her young one had
disappeared as well, though they had seen only Apar's body hanging from the
tree. Long ago, he remembered, he had climbed over the ridge himself, drawn by
the scent of others, though he had been careful to avoid the leopard.  He
smiled as an image of the pond, and the mate he had found there, formed in his
mind.