CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (16 page)

Tipp took her mother's
place.  Like her mother, she was brave and resourceful, worthy of
respect.  She gathered the others around her and led them along the
familiar paths from river to swamp, then to the lake, and back to the river
when the dry season came again.  Each time they returned, they went first
to the circle of stones to remember Zena, the one who had called the rains from
the sky and kept them alive when all of them had thought they would die. 
And just as they had expected, she was always there to greet them. 
Sometimes her voice came to them in the wind; sometimes they thought they heard
her speak through the stars or the moon, or through the creatures of the woods.

Soon, though, it
was not just Zena for whom they listened.  Her voice became the voice of
the mothers who were one, and her presence merged into the presence they felt
when they performed the ritual to bring the rain.  They called this
presence  "Mother," as Zena had.  She was all the mothers
who had ever given birth and nurtured those around them; She was the powerful
force that brought storms and rain, the force that created new life and took
the old or the injured back again.  The Mother lived in the earth, in the
sky, in the rivers and lakes, in every creature that walked or crawled or flew. 
But Her special home was the circle of stones, where Zena's compassion for the
ones she loved had caused Her to be born.

PART
TWO

From the
Rift Valley

to the

Shores of
the
Red Sea

Between five
hundred and

two
hundred thousand years ago

CHAPTER NINE

The herbs had
dulled Mina's pain. Cere could see the change in her sister's face. For hours,
her jaw had alternately clenched and widened, as if she was about to scream but
lacked the strength and had to swallow her agony instead. Sweat dripped
unceasingly from her forehead.  Over and over, Cere had wiped it from her
with the soft bundle of fragrant leaves.  Now, the sweat had ceased to
come and Mina's jaw had relaxed. 

Cere looked up at
her mother. As always, Kalar's face was serene, as befitted her position. 
She was the tribe's wise one, the woman who advised them and helped them to
make important decisions.  Kalar was closest to the Great Mother, and
without the Mother, the tribe could not survive.  They were all Her
children, for She was Life-Giver, who caused infants to grow in their mothers'
bellies.

The Mother spoke
to them through Kalar, so it was to Kalar the tribe now looked for reassurance,
when so many of the young women were dying.  Pictures of those already
dead arose in Cere's mind.  Mina's face slid beside them.  She
shuddered and thrust the picture away.  It was a bad omen.  Surely
the Mother did not want to take Mina back so soon.  Only three days ago,
Cere herself had given birth, and she had not died.  That was a good
sign.  Her infant, though, had lived less than an hour.  It had been
born too soon, without the strength to breathe, so the Mother had taken it back
until it was stronger.  Sadness filled Cere as she thought of its tiny,
puckered face, the cruel stretching of its lips as it sucked for air.  It
had never sucked milk, though her breasts were ready.  They swayed with
unfamiliar heaviness as she bent over Mina, and she could feel milk trying to
push through her nipples even though there was no baby to feed.

Mina seemed to be
sleeping now.  Her lips were soft in repose, and the lines that had marred
her brow had disappeared. Like Kalar, Mina was one of the long-headed
ones.  Some in the tribe had low, sloping foreheads, but Mina's brow was
high and wide, her head unusually large. 

Mina's eyes opened
suddenly, and she stared straight ahead, as if she saw something
surprising. 

Cere looked up,
puzzled.  There was nothing to see here in the birthing place, except the
trees that surrounded the small glen.  They had chosen it as the birthing
place because of the blessed circle of stones that lay within it.  None
knew how the smooth, rounded rocks had come here, but they did know they were
sacred, and a good place for new life to emerge.  Cere herself had felt
their power, and so had Mina.  When they had first entered the circle as
children, strange prickles had slid up their spines.  They had scampered
away to find Kalar, to ask why that should be.

"The Mother's
spirit resides there," she had answered, and after that, the children had
regarded the stones with awe.

Mina's eyes closed
again. Cere spoke the word of caring to her and stroked her cheek, but Mina did
not seem to hear. 

 Cere raised
her face to the sky, wishing the moon would come out and bathe Mina in its soft
light.  It had been full and bright when Cere herself had given birth, but
all through this night it had hidden behind thick, black-edged clouds. 
Labor was easier when the moon was full, Kalar said, for then it had power and
could help to pull at the life within.

She looked down
again.  Mina's eyelids fluttered briefly, and a small sigh escaped her
lips.  Cere could see a line of darkness around her mouth, where blood had
stained it when she bit her lips in pain.  Gently, she wiped the stains
away with the fragrant leaves.

It was good the
pain had left her.  But surely her labor was taking too long.  Mina
had entered the birthing place soon after sunrise, and now the night was almost
gone.  At first, she had crouched, to ease the pressure, or walked a
little, but for many hours she had been lying down.  Perhaps she was
gathering her strength, so she would be able to push hard when the time came.

Cere looked at the
other women, to gather a clue from their faces.  But there was only
patience, and weariness.  All night long they had watched over Mina,
tending the fires that lit up the small glen, fetching water and leaves for
compresses, rushes to soften the bed, anticipating the moment when she would
give that final push.  But it had not come.  Instead, hours ago, when
Mina had begun to writhe in agony, Kalar had called for her special herbs, the
ones to dull the pain.  She did not often do that, but she had given the
herbs to Mina many times, pushing the concoction into her mouth, and stroking
her throat until she swallowed.

Cere frowned,
worried.  Dawn was sliding into the air, and still nothing had
happened.  Her own labor had lasted only a few hours, and she had not
needed the herbs.  So many of the births had been like that.  When
labor was short, the baby died, too small to live.  When it was long, the
mother died.  The tribe had looked to Kalar for answers.  She had
tried to reassure them, but the words to say what was in her thoughts were
few.  They had words for animals and objects, for their activities, for
people and the relationships between them, even for the caring in their
hearts.  But knowledge of other things came in pictures in their minds,
and it was hard to show these pictures to one another.  Still, Kalar had
tried.

"The Great
Mother changes us," she had told them.  "Then pain comes. 
But good comes too. We must wait."

The response had
meant little to Cere at the time, and it did not help her now.  All she
wanted was for Mina to be all right.  Mina was the one who had comforted
her each time she fell, who had shown her how to use her digging stick, how to
pound nuts and tubers.  They had gone everywhere together, leaping through
the fields in imitation of the graceful gazelle, or splashing happily in the
lake when the air was hot.  Together, they had stared down at the faces
they saw in the water and wondered at the sameness to their own faces, then at
the strange distortions that came when the water moved.  Cere wanted badly,
still, to ask Mina about these things.  Mina would know how to
answer.  She had the promise of wisdom already upon her, like Kalar when
she was young.  Cere knew this from listening to the other women.

She smiled down at
her sister, remembering, and touched her cheek to reassure her, as she had so
many times this night.  Her hand leaped back involuntarily, for Mina's
skin was cold, as cold as the rocks when no sun had come for many days.  A
cry rose in Cere's throat, but she could not utter it.  Fear choked her,
made her heart jump fiercely.  There was no color in Mina's face, only
grayness.  The tiny infant's face had looked like that, at the end. 
Was Mina gone too?

She was aware of
sudden movement.  Kalar had called sharply to one of the women, who had
run off in the direction of the clearing.  Her footsteps thudded on the
well-worn path; Cere heard a shuffling noise and another sharp command. 
Her cutting stone - that was what Kalar had called for.  Why should she
want that right now? 

Kalar was kneeling
by Mina, gently kneading her swollen belly.  Her eyes were closed in
concentration, and she did not see Cere, nor did she respond when Cere called
out to her in fear.  She seemed to be aware of nothing but the messages
that came from her fingers as they probed carefully all across the distended
mass where the unborn child still rested. 

The woman returned
and handed Kalar the cutting stone.  It was her best stone, the one Lett
had struck from his special flint and sharpened many times, so that it would
cut easily through the tough hides of the carcasses they sometimes found. 
Still kneeling by Mina, Kalar held it to her lips, then raised it into the air
in blessing.  She touched Mina's face, and spoke to her quietly. 
Cere could hear the caring in her voice.

"Love is in
my heart, in my hands, as I do this, Mina.  Go now to the Mother, for She
takes you back to Her heart."

Placing the stone
reverently on Mina's chest, Kalar rose to her feet and stood, straight and
tall.  Arms outstretched, she spoke in a full, strong voice that all could
hear. 

"Great
Mother, Giver of Life, take Mina, my eldest daughter, to Your heart.  I,
Kalar, will keep the little one, as Your picture told me.  Great Mother,
give me strength to do as You have asked."

For a long moment,
she stood absolutely still, her face raised to the sky.  Slowly, the
brilliant red ball of the sun slid over the horizon and touched her eyelids
with pink.  It was the signal for which she had waited. 

Once again, she
knelt and placed her palms against the stretched skin of her daughter's
stomach.  Her long fingers probed and pushed as she tried to feel what lay
within so she would know how to accomplish the task the Mother had given
her.  The weight of her actions compressed her lips and furrowed her brow,
but her hands did not falter.  Taking a deep, calming breath, she grasped her
cutting stone.  Slowly, with great deliberation, she cut a long, shallow
slit across Mina's belly.  Blood welled up; one of the women knelt and
sopped it up with fresh leaves.  Again, Kalar cut, deeper this time. 
Then she shoved her hands into the wound and felt for the life within.  Around
and around her hands went, feeling, exploring, hoping. 

Cere's stomach
heaved and bile rose in her throat.  She thrust the sensations away. 
She must be strong, for her mother's sake, for Mina's sake. 

Kalar's hands
leaped, as if she had been kicked.  She withdrew them and made another
careful slit, opposite to the first.  Her eyes wrinkled as she struggled
to see into the dark wound.  Abruptly, she thrust both hands back into
Mina's belly and pulled.  Blood spurted up around her; Mina's blood, her
daughter's blood.  It showed darkly up to her elbows, stained her knees
and chest as she leaned over to pull harder.  Then the infant came, so
suddenly she almost fell backward.  It squirmed in her hands, bloodied, nearly
unrecognizable.  A thin wail rose from its tiny chest, but the cry seemed
to strangle in its throat.  Quickly, Kalar placed her lips over the
infant's mouth and sucked hard.  Hearing no further sounds, she held it
upside down and slapped gently at its back.  She sucked again, more
strongly.  Another wail emerged, then another. 

Kalar called for
fresh leaves to wipe the squalling infant. Exhaustion marked her face, but
there was exaltation in it, too.  She had done the thing that had come to
her in a picture, a picture that had come from the Life-Giver.  Never
before had an infant been plucked alive from the belly of its dead
mother.  Now it had been done, and it could be done again.  She could
not save the tiny babies, the ones born too early, but she could save some of
the others, the ones too big to be born.  Even if the Mother took the
women who tried to bear them, she, Kalar, might keep the precious life
within.  Until this time of change was over, they did not need to lose
them all.  And perhaps, as her vision had told her, good would finally
come from their ordeal.

Sunlight bathed
the birthing place now.  Kalar could see the infant clearly.  It was
a girl child, and like its mother, it had a long, high forehead.  Its head
was very big; never before had she seen a head so large in a newborn
infant.  Perhaps, she thought, that was because it had lingered such a
long time in the womb.  What might such a thing portend?

Kalar
frowned.  She must ask the Mother, seek Her wisdom.  But now there
were practical tasks, tasks associated with life, to attend to.  She
signaled to Pote, the most experienced of the women, to help her cut and tie
the cord.  The baby was quiet as they concentrated on making a knot close
to its round belly, but this time Kalar was not alarmed.  Its breathing
was regular, its skin darkly pink and healthy, unlike the poor little male
child Cere had borne, with its translucent skin and frail body.  Kalar
turned and approached her other daughter.  It was good, after all, in this
way.

Tears sprang
unbidden into Cere's eyes as Kalar placed the infant in her arms.  Her
mother honored her to trust her with this special child.  She glanced up
at Kalar, to express her knowledge of the honor, but her throat was too full
for speaking words.  Kalar grasped her message anyway, and inclined her
head to let Cere know she understood.