CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (2 page)

Tope walked cautiously
toward the water.  Zena followed, eager to drink.  But when the thick
mud oozed over her feet, sucked at her legs, she grabbed her mother's arm,
whimpering in fear.  Tope stepped back a few paces, pulling Zena with
her.  Her dark eyes darted between the clear water in the center and the
damp blackness at her feet. Then she handed the infant to Zena and dug into the
muck with her strong fingers.  Brown water bubbled to the surface, and
mother and daughter knelt to drink. 

When
her thirst was satisfied, Tope dug still deeper, first in one place, then
another, using her stick as well as her hands.  A vague memory had
returned, from a time when her own mother had dug deep in the mud. 
Grimacing, she stuck a hand into one of the holes and pulled out a clump of
hard objects.  She struck at them with a sharp stone until the soft flesh
inside was revealed, then stuffed the contents voraciously into her mouth.

Zena
sniffed cautiously when her mother handed her a few of the strange
objects.  Their smell was unfamiliar but good.  Her stomach rumbled
in anticipation.  Passing the infant back, she pulled eagerly at the
mussels and ate until her hunger had begun to abate.  Then she found a
stick for herself and dug for more.  Finally, their bellies full and their
thirst appeased for the first time in many months, the pair moved on.

In
the weeks that followed, they were not so lucky.  Each day they struggled
simply to survive, to find enough food to keep their legs from buckling beneath
them, enough moisture to prevent the delirium of dehydration.  Nights were
an even more terrifying ordeal.  Often, the long, dark hours were spent in
a shallow hole in the parched earth, without even a bush to cover them. 
Mother and daughter slept uneasily, wincing at each noise, shrinking toward
each other as the blackness deepened.

Gradually,
the terrain changed as they continued to travel west.  Rocks littered the
dry ground, and the flat plains gave way to occasional low hills. 
Desperate now to find a place that still offered at least the promise of life,
the possibility of a secure shelter at night, Tope struggled up each of them to
survey the landscape.  Late one afternoon, her perseverance was finally
rewarded.  A tumbled pile of boulders, big enough to offer shelter, lay
ahead.  Beyond them a long, rocky slope led to an old river bed, where
there would be food.  Still further in the distance, she saw the faint
outlines of mountains.  They drew her forward, for instinct told her that
where there were mountains, there could also be water.  And where there
was water, there was life.

Excited
by the discovery, Tope broke into a run.  But when she came near the
boulders, her demeanor changed.  Keeping Zena behind her, she approached
with caution, watching for movement.  Predators often made their homes in
these rocky outcroppings.  When she was sure there was no immediate
danger, she moved closer and sniffed carefully at each boulder.  Without
conscious thought, her sense of smell told her what animal had left a
particular scent, whether it signified danger, whether it was old or new.

A
strong musty smell permeated the air near a wide crack between two of the
largest rocks, and she leaped away.  The scent was not new, but still it
alarmed her, for it told her a tiger had once lived in this place.  She
called nervously to Zena and began to investigate a smaller opening at the
other end of the rock pile.  No smells assaulted her, so she squeezed into
it and gestured to her daughter to follow.  Zena sniffed the rocks as her
mother had, so she would remember the predator's scent.  Then she followed
her mother through the other narrow opening.

The
space beyond was cave-like and dark, and a welcome coolness radiated from the
rock walls.  Zena crept into a corner and watched as her mother fingered a
few bones that were scattered across the floor of the enclosure.  They
were old and brittle, with no remaining scent.  Mother and daughter
dropped wearily to the ground.  No other creature lived here, and no
animal larger than themselves could enter their refuge.  Here they could
sleep, finally, without fear.

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

Zena
was awakened by a drumming sound on the boulders above her head.  The air
had a strange smell, faintly acrid, and moisture had collected on the rock
walls during the night.  Its presence surprised her.  Never before
had she known wetness on rock.  Still, she was grateful.  Water could
be found in the river bed, but they had to dig deep to reach it.  She
licked the damp places eagerly, her tongue describing a wide arc against the
rough surface.

Abruptly,
she realized she was alone.  But the scent of her mother and baby brother
remained, reassuring her, so she began to explore the crevices where rocks met
ground with her sensitive fingers, looking for food.  They had been here
for almost a year now, and she knew all the places where plump worms hid or
beetles scurried for cover.  This time, she discovered a cache of moist
seeds. She chewed them quickly, making smacking sounds of pleasure.
   A slender snake, disturbed by her probing hands, slithered toward
her, and she jumped away with a cry.  It hissed at her and disappeared
beneath the rocks.

Frightened
by the snake, she thrust her head out of the enclosure to look for her mother,
but withdrew it quickly.  The unfamiliar smell was stronger outside. Even
more disturbing were the cool drops of moisture that landed unexpectedly on her
face.  She mewed apprehensively, bewildered by these strange events. 
But the need to find her mother was stronger than her fear, and she soon pushed
herself out again.

Immediately,
she was wet.  Drops of water landed on her face, her arms, her back. 
She shook them off, but more returned.  Puzzled, she looked at the
sky.  The drops seemed to come from up there.  She had never seen
drops fall from the sky before, and they alarmed her.  Even more
terrifying was the absence of sun.  Never before in her life had the sun
failed to rise and spread its harsh glare into every corner of the
landscape.  Now it had disappeared completely, and the day was gray and
muted instead of blindingly bright. 

Zena
mewed again, this time a louder call of distress.  An answering call came
from the dry river bed below.  Wide and deep, with high banks, it carved a
winding gash through the land.  Her mother was standing inside it, holding
the baby with one arm.  The other arm she stretched toward the sleeping
place on the hill, as if in invitation.  She uttered another low call, then
bent down to resume her search for grubs and snails.

Zena
hesitated.  Still the sun had not returned, and the peculiar, acrid smell
was stronger than ever.  A loud rumbling noise suddenly came from the
sky.  She looked up fearfully, but she could see nothing, for the drops of
water came hard and fast into her eyes and blinded her.  The whole world
seemed filled with them now.  They splashed with loud plunking sounds on
the rocks all around her and gathered in puddles on the pale earth, making dark
lines as they raced toward the river bed. 

She
watched them, frozen into immobility; then, with a sharp cry, she retreated
into the shelter.  Just as she moved, a blinding flash of light tore
across the clouds, and a terrifying crack seemed to split the air into
pieces.  The sound drove Zena into the farthest corner of the
refuge.  Wetness came with her; it trickled down her back, making her
shiver, and cascaded down the sides of the rocks.  Clutching her arms to
her chest for protection, she huddled there, listening, afraid. 

A
scrabbling sound made her jump, but as she caught the familiar scent, Zena
relaxed.  Her mother's head, water streaming from it, appeared at the
entrance to the cave.  In her free hand, she held a limp rodent.  It
was covered with light fur and had a short, stubby tail.  Washed out of
its burrow by the rains, it had been easy to catch.

Tope
responded with a comforting grunt to her daughter's squeal of greeting. 
Then she probed deftly at the animal's skin with a sharp rock.  Tearing at
the exposed flesh with her strong, blunt teeth, she chewed industriously,
spitting out the fur in disgust.  Zena held out her hand, and after a
while her mother handed her part of the carcass. 

Zena
gagged at the strong taste, and chewed with difficulty. Her teeth were better
adapted for grinding tubers and grains and nuts than meat.  But the flesh
of rodents filled a place in her belly that had been empty for so long she had
forgotten it was there.  Satisfied, and reassured by her mother's
presence, she drank from a puddle near the entrance to their refuge, and curled
up to sleep again.

All
that day, and for many days after, the rains continued to fall.  Flashes
of light tore through the sky, followed by deafening crashes.  Zena
huddled in her corner, occasionally gnawing on the rodent's bones and other
scraps left by her mother.  Fearful of the unfamiliar sights and sounds,
she had not wanted to venture outside.  But now her hunger was too great
to ignore, and the drumming of rain had slowed.  She poked her head out to
sniff the air and then emerged into muted daylight.

The
world that greeted her was unlike anything she had seen before.  Water was
everywhere, in puddles on the ground, in crevices in the rocks, in rivulets
that bounded down the slope toward the river bed.  Light drops fell on her
forehead and dripped into her eyes, but she was too astonished by the strange
sights even to wipe them away.  The sheen of the rocks, the glitter of
puddles, and especially the perplexing ripples that spread outward each time a
drop of rain fell, fascinated her.  She stooped to examine the ripples
more closely in a nearby puddle.  Quickly, her hand lashed out.  A
large insect floated on the water, struggling to fly.  She crunched it
between her teeth even as she spotted others.  Grabbing as many as she
could fit into her hands, she crammed them into her mouth.

Her
mother called from farther down the slope, and Zena started toward her.  A
larger puddle distracted her.  Wriggling just under its surface were small
black creatures with long tails.  Zena reached out to catch one, but it
slid from her grasp.  Again she tried, and this time she caught the
tadpole.  For all the years of the drought, they had lain dormant in
clusters of eggs.  As soon as they were wet, they sprang again to life.

The rains had begun to
transform the landscape as well.  A light sprinkling of emerald showed at
the roots of long-dead grasses, and clumps of feathery leaves were already
thrusting up between the rocks.  On the plains behind her, Zena saw spots
of red and white and deep blue, waving at the ends of their short stalks. 
She ran to see, and tasted some of them.  The purple was bitter, and she
spat it out.  But the white ones were sweet, and when she dug beneath them
with a nearby stick, their bulbs were succulent and tender.

The
sun burst unexpectedly through the clouds.  Bits of light were everywhere,
on each leaf, each rock, on the ripples in the water.  Zena dropped to her
knees to examine them, but when she touched them they disappeared.  She
blinked and looked again.  They reappeared, but then a huge shadow spread
across the ground and they vanished once more.  She looked up,
startled.  The clouds had suddenly darkened.  Thick and bulbous, they
loomed menacingly above her, blotting out the light.

She
stood abruptly, mewing in fear.  The air had become almost as dark as
night, and she heard a strange noise, a subdued roar, different than any sound
she had heard before.  It seemed to come from the mountains, not from the
sky.  She stared toward the peaks, but clouds blocked her view.  The
rain began again, making it even harder to see through the gloom.  First,
a few large drops fell, then water began to come at her in torrents, battering
her upturned face.  She ran toward the entrance to the cave, but she did
not enter.  Even more than the security of the shelter, she wanted her mother. 
Darkness when the sun should be high in the sky and the ominous new roar
terrified her.

Squinting
against the downpour, she spotted Tope still standing in the river bed. 
Water swirled around her ankles, and as Zena watched, she took a few steps
toward the hillside.  Then she stopped and turned a questioning face
upstream, toward the river's source in the mountains that loomed against the
southern horizon.

Zena
listened to the sound that had attracted her mother's attention, and her terror
grew.  It was another new noise, a rushing, pounding racket.  The
sound grew louder and louder, more and more fierce, until it was a deafening
clamor.  There was wind now as well, furious, tearing wind.  She
clung desperately to the rocks, calling frantically.  Her cries were lost
in the howling around her. 

Then,
as she watched, a massive wall of water rounded the curve of the river bed far
upstream, and came crashing toward her mother.  She saw Tope clutch the
baby under one arm and start to scramble up the steep bank.  But the wall
of water was almost upon her; it rose far above her head, filling the width and
depth of the river bed.  Tope raised a hand to her face, as if to fend off
the approaching onslaught. Then it hit her, knocking her backward, and she
disappeared beneath the roiling fury. 

Zena uttered a howl of
absolute helplessness and despair.  Squeezing her body between two
boulders so the wind would not tear her away, she stared frantically at the
place where her mother had disappeared.  But she could see nothing beyond
the rain that slashed mercilessly into her eyes.  

Mewing
piteously, she slithered into the protection of the cave and huddled in its
darkest corner.  Deep inside herself, she knew that her mother would not
return.  She was alone in this harsh new world where the sun did not rise,
where wetness and deafening crashes came from the mountains and the sky.