CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (28 page)

She had tried to
follow Lotan, had tried to leap from one clump of grass to another as he was
doing, but the infant had screamed and wriggled with fear, making movement
impossible.  With her wounded shoulder, the pain of trying to hold on to
the baby had quickly become intolerable.  Smoke and cinders and heat had blinded
her, and she could see nothing.

And then, out of
the fiery gloom, Kropor had appeared and dragged her back to the hillside.

Furious at Lotan,
at his own burning feet, at the agony of his bloody eye, he had pulled
remorselessly at her injured arm, so she would have to follow.  Even when
she had fallen, overwhelmed by the pain, he had not let go.  Only when
they had reached the others had he released her.  Then he had been
frightened, for she had uttered a howl of absolute anguish and folded to the ground. 
Her body had started to shake so hard he had feared she would break, and she
had screamed at him with such vengeance that he had gone away, afraid for
himself as well as for her, that she would never be friendly again. 

Ashamed now of his
cruelty, Kropor returned and offered Ralak a piece of fruit, to try to make
amends.  He had not meant to hurt her so badly.  He had just wanted
to keep her with him, keep her from following Lotan. 

Huddled over the
infant, weeping in great, wrenching gasps, Ralak neither saw nor heard
him.  There was room only for Lotan in her thoughts, her heart.  His
slender body had disappeared behind a thick curtain of smoke, and she did not
know if he was dead or alive, if he was wounded, waiting for her to come to
him.  He had vanished, as her brother had vanished, and she might never
see him again.

The infant nuzzled
against her, and Ralak held it closer so it could suckle.  The familiar
sensation calmed her.  Slowly, her sobs diminished.  Maybe Lotan was
still alive, still wandering out there somewhere, looking for her; maybe she
would be able to find him when the light came again, and the fire had died
down.

A torrent of
anguish threatened to overwhelm her again, but Ralak pushed it away.  She
had seen something, in her mind.  It was a picture of Lotan, lying on the
ground.

She frowned
deeply, trying to hold on to the image.  Long ago, with her mother, she
had often been able to see this way.  But so much time had passed, with no
other who could help her, that she had almost forgotten.  Even her brother
had been unable to help, for he did not see the pictures.

Ralak closed her
eyes, so she could see better.  The picture came into focus for a moment
and then vanished, as Lotan had vanished.  She clenched her fists in
frustration.  Then fatigue overtook her and she relaxed.  Listening
absent-mindedly to the baby's sucking noises, she let her mind go loose. 

The image came
again.  She watched it carefully.  She saw Lotan lying motionless
against the ground.  There was no fire around him, only smoke.  He
did not move or call out, but she did not think he was dead.  It was as if
a connection existed between herself and Lotan that would have broken had he
been dead.  But he was hurt, hurt and frightened.

The image
disappeared again, but it had given Ralak courage.  She would find
him.  As soon as the light came again, she would look for him.  And
this time, Kropor would not stop her.

Early in the
morning, long before the sun had come over the horizon, she crept away from the
others.  Her wide feet were soundless against the dry grasses, her lithe
body almost invisible against the still dark air.  Kropor did not
stir.  Only Toro awoke. She sat up and stared at Ralak's shadowy
figure.  Her mouth opened, but then she pressed her hand firmly against
her lips and did not move or make a sound until the small form had disappeared.

Ralak glanced back
at her gratefully.  Toro had few words, but still she had
understood.  She hurried on, stepping with infinite caution, holding the
infant close against her breast so it would not cry.  She did not go to
the burned place, but to the trees above, where Kropor could not see her. 
All morning she waited there, while he searched and called for her in mounting
frustration.  Then, when he and Metep and Toro had disappeared, she crept
soundlessly down the hill to look for Lotan. 

For hours Ralak
searched, as the sun beat heavily down on her back, but she could find no trace
of him.  The pungent smell of smoke obscured his scent; there were no
revealing footsteps, no trail of blood.  Surely if the fire or Kropor had
killed him, she would have found some sign.  The recognition gave her hope
even as she struggled with despair.  Then, suddenly, hope  kindled
into excitement as she caught a whiff of Lotan's scent.  It came from a
rocky area beneath a short, steep cliff, below the place where the fires had
burned.

He had been there;
she was certain of it.  His scent was strong, for the fires had not come
this far.  There was a hint of another scent, too, the scent of others
like herself.

Puzzled, Ralak sat
back on her heels to think.  A violent clap of thunder interrupted her
absorption.  Lightning followed, as the afternoon displays that were a
prelude to the rains began.  Abruptly, she became aware of a commotion in
the distance.  Dust was rising thickly to the east, and she heard the
sound of thousands of hoofs, as if a huge group of animals had suddenly started
to run. 

It was the
wildebeests, she realized, on their annual migration.  But why were they
moving so fast?   She heard another noise, faint above the din of
pounding hoofs.  She thought it was a scream - a scream of fear.

Ralak leaped to
her feet, galvanized by the sounds, and ran up the hillside, to see better. 
There were fires, far away, across the slim ribbon of river she could see from
her vantage point - only the river was no longer there, for it had been
obscured by the bodies of wildebeests.  They were surging across it in an
enormous clump, as if they were one, and they were moving in this direction.

Was it Lotan who
had screamed?  Ralak did not know, could not tell.  She wanted to run
down to look for him, but she dared not go closer.  The animals had
stampeded and they would trample anything in their path.  They would
trample Lotan, if he was there.  They would trample her, too, and the
infant.

Tucking the baby
securely under her good arm, Ralak ran for the trees where she had sheltered
earlier.  She could not climb them with her wounded arm, so she ran deep
into the woods and lay close against the earth, trying to pull its force into
her, to give her strength.  All through the long night she huddled there,
listening to the wildebeests thunder past, pushing away the grief that
threatened to tear her heart into pieces.  Lotan was still alive; she was
certain of it.  She had seen the place where he had been, smelled his
scent against the rocks.  He could not die now.  The fire had not
killed him, Kropor had not killed him.  The wildebeest would not kill him,
either. 

Ralak closed her
eyes firmly, squeezing back the hot tears that burned behind them, and told herself
these things over and over again, willing herself to believe.  Lotan would
not die.  In the morning, she would search again.  And this time, she
would find him.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

Bran's fist lashed
out and hit Lotan squarely on the chin.  The boy stumbled backward and
almost fell.  A mixture of astonishment and anger showed on his
face.  The blow had not been hard, but it had caught him completely by
surprise.  Bran had always seemed so amiable. 

Bran looked even
more surprised.  Lotan had inadvertently jostled him, but he had not
expected to hit the boy in return.  He was appalled and embarrassed by his
action.  He glanced apologetically at Zena, but she only shook her head in
dismay and wandered off to sit by herself.

Ever since they
had left the clearing, incidents like this had occurred with increasing
frequency.  Grief lay heavily in their hearts, making them short-tempered.
But their discord had a deeper source.  Without Kalar's quiet guidance,
they seemed unable to control themselves.  They fought over petty
incidents and selfishly grabbed food for themselves instead of sharing. 
Worse, in losing Kalar, they felt they had lost the Mother as well.  Kalar
had been Her representative, and with no one to speak for Her, they seemed to
forget how to cooperate or express the concern for each other that still lurked
deep within them. 

The others turned
instinctively to Zena for leadership, sensing, as Kalar had, that she was
destined to speak for the Mother.  But Zena stubbornly resisted.  To
take Kalar's place would mean giving up her anger, and that she would not
do.  Anger protected her.  It gave her strength to move through the
days and kept her grief at bay.  Most important, anger made it possible
for her to keep her heart closed against the Mother.  The Mother had
killed Kalar and Cere and the others, and Zena had no intention of forgiving Her. 
Each day when she woke, each evening before sleep, she prodded her anger, so
she would not forget.  It spread within her, coloring all her thoughts and
actions.

Bran went to sit
away from the others, with his back to them.  Lupe started to follow, but
changed his mind, confused by Bran's uncharacteristic behavior.  Sima
began to cry quietly.  Lupe put his arm around her, and they huddled
together, apart from the others.  This, too, had become a frequent
occurrence.  Bran and Zena sat alone, brooding, leaving the two young ones
to comfort each other as best they could.  Nyta paid no attention to any
of them.  Ever since she had fallen from the tree, she had existed in a
kind of trance, as if she did not remember what had happened to them.  She
fed Cere's infant and sometimes helped Sima, but she seldom spoke or responded
to the others.

Lotan sighed
heavily, remembering the time before the stampede, when everyone in the tribe
had cared for each other.  He had never known such friendliness and
warmth.  Now there was only indifference, the numbness of overpowering
grief. 

The misery in
Zena's face made him want to comfort her, but he did not dare.  She
refused comfort from any of them.  Only Three-Legs could get close to her,
and often she seemed barely aware of the little gazelle's gentle
nuzzling.  She hardly spoke either.  Before, she had been so eager to
talk to him, to learn his words.  Her curiosity had vanished, and she
wanted only to be left alone.  He understood.  He, too, had lost the
one who was most important to him.  His mother was always in his thoughts,
and he looked constantly for any sign of her or the others.

He went to Zena
and pointed south.  "That way?" he asked.

She shrugged and
shook her head wearily.  She could not answer him.  Probably they
should go south, to the lake, as they always had in the past.  But once
again, fires had cut across their normal route, and without Kalar and Lett to
guide them, they felt helpless.  Nothing seemed to matter to any of them,
except the need to feed themselves and stay alive.

Finding food was
harder now.  All the implements that had made it easier - the digging
sticks, the sharp stones and carrying devices - had been destroyed in the
stampede.  Bran had tried to make some stones like Lett's, but they did
not work very well.  And every time Zena started to make a basket or
sling, she thought of Cere and the tears she refused to shed pricked behind her
eyes with such force she could not see to work.

Only two items had
been salvaged.  Nyta still used the sling Zena had made for her, and just
before they had left the clearing, she had gone to the circle of stones, for
Zena would not, and had picked up the first wide-hipped figure Lett had
made.  She kept it with her always.  Zena saw her holding it as she
suckled Cere's infant, and the familiar anger rose forcefully within her,
giving her energy.

"We must find
shelter," she said.  The others rose quickly and followed her, glad
of any activity that distracted them.

Each afternoon
now, they shivered miserably under a tree or rock, or whatever meager
protection they could find from the heavy downpours.  All of them knew
they should build a more permanent shelter, but they lacked the motivation.

Zena spotted a
pile of rocks below them.  If they gathered some branches, and a burning
stick if they could find one, they would have some shelter at least, and be
safe from animals.

Lotan stiffened
suddenly as they approached the rocks.  A scent had come to him, a scent
so heavy and unmistakable he could not be wrong.  He grabbed Zena's arm.

"Male,"
he said urgently.  "Bad male!" 

She stared into
his face.  Fear dominated his features, but she saw hope there too.

Bran came closer,
alerted by the tension in their bodies.  "We go back," he said,
when Zena had explained Lotan's words.

Lotan shook his
head.  "Find mother," he insisted.

"We hide to
look," Bran said. 

Zena nodded and
they started back up the hillside to find a place where they could observe
unseen, but they were too late.  The big male had spotted them.  He
stood on a rock, squinting in an effort to see clearly.  Even at this
distance, Zena could see that one of his eyes was puffy and discolored. 
He wiped at it constantly, trying to clear his vision.

"Eye?" 
She looked questioningly at Lotan.

He pointed to the
digging stick he carried, and gestured as if to poke it into his eye, then
pointed to Kropor.  Zena grimaced.  This male must be very angry at
Lotan, if he had hurt his eye so badly.

The big male
uttered a low call, and two females appeared behind him.

"Mother?" 
Zena watched Lotan's face as she asked the question.  He shook his head,
disappointment heavy in his eyes.

Lotan moved
closer, one step at a time, trying to see past Kropor and the others. 
Perhaps his mother was behind them; perhaps she was wounded, and could not
walk.