CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (30 page)

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Zena and Ralak and
Lotan sat with their heads close together, speaking of the Mother and the
earthforce.  Many seasons of rain and dryness had passed since they had
come together, and they understood each other well.  Each tribe had
learned the other's words; the words had merged and multiplied in the process,
as they put meanings together and found new ones.

Sima and Lupe
crouched nearby, making pictures of words as they listened, and mouthing them
so they would remember.  Bran and Kropor were sharpening stones and
digging sticks.  Kropor excelled at this task, and the others had become
dependent on his special expertise.  Their praise made him less wary, and
he was seldom violent anymore.  He was still easily irritated, but he was
also fiercely devoted to Ralak and did not want to displease her.  When
anger overcame him, he disappeared for a time, and when he returned, he
behaved.

Toro and Metep sat
nearby making slings.  Toro had a new infant now, and Metep was pregnant,
so they needed them.  Nyta helped, patiently showing them how to weave
strands together and make firm knots.  The presence of others seemed to
have revived Nyta.  She still did not remember what had happened to them,
but she was cheerful and active now, no longer in a trance.  All of them
had improved in the time they had been together.  Though they thought
often of the ones they had lost, grief no longer robbed them of energy and
motivation.

Zena had grown
quickly in the years since the stampede.  At thirteen, she was taller than
Ralak, and her hips and breasts had filled out.  She moved with grace and
authority, and sometimes Lotan looked at her longingly as unfamiliar sensations
stirred in his loins.  Her curiosity had come back, but so had her
stubborn independence.  She wanted to figure out everything for herself,
without waiting to listen to others.  Especially, she did not want to
listen for the Mother, or feel Her presence.  Though her anger had gone,
she still she did not trust any force beyond herself, lest it betray her.

Ralak despaired
sometimes that Zena would ever fully open her heart again.  It would be
necessary, soon, to challenge her, she thought, as she herself had once been
challenged.  That was why she had brought them to this place.

She had told Zena
many times of the earthforce, and had heard from her of the Mother, of Kalar,
who had represented Her.  That the earthforce should also be Mother had
seemed instantly obvious to Ralak, as if a connection between her mind and
heart had suddenly slipped into place.  She had always understood the
power of the earthforce, but she had felt, too, that there was something
closer, warmer.  She had found it in the Mother. 

Still, both could
be harsh as well as gentle, and it was this that Zena would not accept. 
She knew with her mind that the earthforce and the Mother could kill as well as
offering the promise of life, but she did not know it in her heart.  To
make the heart accept was hardest of all.

Ralak held up the
wide-hipped statue Lett had made.  "The earthforce is in this
one," she said.  "I feel it. You feel it now."  She
handed it to Zena and waited.

Zena took the
small figure reluctantly.  A shudder ran through her.  It seemed to
come from the statue, and she put it down again quickly.

"I feel
it," she agreed.  "But there is fear in it too."

"The fear is
in you, not in the figure,"  Ralak retorted.  Then she
softened. 

"The
earthforce and the Mother are the same," she told Zena patiently. 
"And both can hurt.  From them come the mountains that explode, the
lightning, even the dryness that kills.  But from them, too, come rain,
and life.  They are both - death as well as life, pain as well as
joy."

"Why must
that be?  Why is the Mother cruel?"  Zena's lips twisted with
remembered grief, and she pounded the ground for emphasis.

"There is no
answer.  Only that the Mother is as She is, and the earthforce is all that
happens."  

Ralak sighed as
she answered.  She was not sure herself; she knew only that it was
necessary to accept.  Especially, it was necessary for Zena to accept, and
little time was left to teach her.  The pain low in Ralak's belly, the blood
that dribbled from a place deep inside her told her this.  Hardly
noticeable at first, the symptoms had worsened fast.  Each day, she seemed
to be weaker.

Lotan spoke for
the first time.  "We are not so important, I think," he
mused.  He pointed to Three-Legs.  "We are like her, only one of
many.  That some should feed the lion while others live is good.  The
lion must eat too."

Zena nodded. 
That made sense to her.  Lotan often made sense.  She looked at him
appraisingly.  He, too, had grown, though he was not big like Bran. 
He was small and wiry and strong, and sometimes when he glanced at her she felt
a strange tingling.

"I still do
not think the Mother should have killed so many, and for no reason," she
said stubbornly, to cover her confusion.

Sima volunteered a
thought.  "But now we have others," she commented, "and
that is good."

Zena smiled at
her.  "You are right, Sima.  The Mother has given us Ralak and
the others instead."

She thought
seriously for a moment, trying hard to set her doubts aside.  She had
learned from Ralak; knew her as she had never known another, as if their minds
were one.  Was that, perhaps, the Mother's way, to give her Ralak instead
of Kalar, to teach her?  Though she often tried to avoid the thought, Zena
knew she was destined to speak for the Mother.  She knew it, but pushed
the knowledge away, lest she be hurt again.

She pushed another
thought away as well, a thought that was deeper than knowledge, for it came
from her body and her heart, as if they were connected to Ralak's heart and
body.  Ralak was dying.  The life force was slowly draining from
her.  Ralak had never spoken of it, but Zena knew.

She jumped to her
feet.  "Let us look for food now," she said.  "Soon
the light will be gone."

Lotan followed as
she ran toward the hill where fruit had ripened on the trees.  Together,
they gathered a big pile to take back to the others, then they sat down to eat
some themselves.  This was the time of day Zena loved best, when brilliant
hues of pink and orange and crimson lit up the sky, and the birds clustered in
the trees, jostling and screeching at each other as they settled for the
night.  It was the time when animals came to drink in the pond below them,
and predators stalked the unwary. 

She shivered and
moved closer to Lotan.  He put an arm around her, and when he touched her,
a ripple of pleasure coursed through her body.

Lotan stiffened,
and pointed wordlessly.  She followed his finger, but still she had to
stare for a long moment before she saw the tawny lioness crouched in the long
grasses.  A herd of zebra had come to drink, and her golden eyes were
fixed on them with utter concentration.  The herd had not yet detected
her, and were drinking peacefully.  Then, suddenly, one of them caught her
scent and leaped away.  The others followed, thrusting themselves forward
in lunging strides, to put distance between themselves and the lioness. 
But now she had eyes only for one of them, one who had ventured deeper into the
water than the others.  Some zebras were closer to her, but she ignored
them and charged toward the one she had chosen. 

The frantic animal
lurched through the water in a desperate effort to reach the safety of the
herd.  But it was too late.  The lioness sprang on its back and
grasped its neck with her powerful jaws.  Another lioness, hidden until
now, attacked from the front and closed her teeth on its muzzle.  The
zebra screamed and went down.  Its legs thrashed wildly as it tried to
regain its feet, then it shuddered and lay still.  But it was not dead yet:
its head came up sharply, and the lioness at its muzzle lost her hold. 
She sank her teeth into its throat instead, and held on until the dying zebra
ceased its feeble struggle.

The two lionesses
settled down to feed.  They had taken only a few gulping bites when a
thick-maned male shouldered them aside, growling and snapping.  They
retreated, then crept slowly toward the carcass again.  One of them
reached it and began to feed, but the male knocked her away.  She waited
again, then returned.  The second lioness followed, and this time the male
could not drive them away.  They fed voraciously.  A group of cubs
arrived, and imitated their mothers, but they were not allowed to feed until
the others were almost finished.

Zena's breath
escaped with an audible hiss.  She had seen lions kill before, but never
had she been so close.  This time, she had seen the zebra's frantic eyes,
heard its final scream, watched as the life drained from its body.  It
seemed to her that she had seen something else, too, something even more
powerful than the tableau that had played itself out below her.  She was
not sure what this thing was, except that it had to do with the earthforce,
with the way it moved from one to another.  The life had gone from the
zebra, but it had gone into the lions.  The zebra's death was the lion's
life.

"The lions
must eat too," she mused aloud.  Then she sat up straight.

"But why does
the female kill and the male eat?" she asked indignantly.  "The
lioness should eat if she kills, and the cubs too.  Why do they
wait?"

"All
creatures are different," Lotan responded.  He grinned. "I like
this," he teased her. "She gets the food and he eats."

Zena poked him
playfully.  "I do not," she retorted. "I am glad I am not a
lioness."

She lay back to
enjoy the last blazing moments of the sunset.  Lotan lay close beside
her.  His body was smooth and warm.  A slight breeze blew across
them, and Zena shivered as her skin cooled.  She turned to draw more of
Lotan's warmth, but he had turned, too, and when their bodies met in the new
position, a sudden, piercing thrill passed between them.  Zena felt it
course through her body, and she knew Lotan had felt it, too, for his eyes
widened in surprise, and he drew away. 

They stared at
each other.  At first, their look was restrained, but gradually their eyes
softened so that they were seeing not each other but the feelings between them,
feelings that surged beyond any possibility of retraction.  Without
volition, Zena's hand moved to caress Lotan's thigh.  He moaned with pleasure. 
The sound excited her, made her feel powerful, and she stroked harder, all over
his body.  His hand returned the caresses.  Her skin seemed to burn
where he touched her, but it was a glowing burn of pleasure, not of hurt. 
She pulled closer until her belly and breasts seemed almost to melt into his
warm skin.  Now the glow had spread deep inside her, low between her legs.

Lotan's hand moved
down to caress her just outside the place where the glow was strongest, most
demanding, and she cried out with delight.  She felt her legs open, and
was surprised.  But then the sensations became so strong, so far beyond
her power to control, that she ceased to think at all and just moved where
passion took her.  Groaning, she entwined her legs with his to get closer
still.  But it was not enough; she wanted more, wanted to feel him inside
her.

Again, her hand
moved without volition as she guided him into her.  He went deep, and
deeper still, then retreated and came back.  Zena clutched him, holding
him in there, where she could feel something growing, swelling, as if it wanted
to explode, like ripe fruit suddenly shedding its skin.  And then it
shattered.  A place of pleasure she had never known before grew and grew,
then cracked into pieces, so that the sensations radiated all over her body,
into her arms and legs, her fingers and toes.  Pleasure was everywhere,
hot, overwhelming.

Lotan lurched
against her, then his body wrenched backward, and he screamed, a soft, urgent
scream of passion.  Zena thought she could feel in him what she had felt
in herself, and she held him close until his shuddering subsided. 
Unexpectedly, the intense tingling filled her again, and she felt another
swelling begin to grow, then explode.  Twice again, her body filled and shattered,
and she gasped as the sensations coursed through her.

Lotan was still
now, helpless against her.  Zena did not move or speak.  She could
not.  Somewhere deep inside her mind, she remembered Kalar's words, and
Cere's.

"Mating gives
much pleasure," they had told her.  They had been right.

After a while,
Zena realized that darkness was almost upon them.  She shook Lotan.
"We must leave.  The sun has gone," she whispered.

Lotan sat up and
yawned.  Then he seemed suddenly to remember what had happened, and he looked
at Zena with startled eyes.  In the dim light, the yellow flecks were
almost invisible. "I have never mated before," he said.

"I have not
either," Zena told him.  "I did not think I would mate,
ever.  I did not know it gave such pleasure."

She grabbed his
hand and they ran down the hill toward the clearing.  Their group had
built a good shelter, one that would last, with a large flat clearing where
they could make baskets and sharpen sticks, and gather around the hearth fire
at the end of the day.  The fire was glowing now, welcoming them.

Ralak looked up as
they entered the circle of firelight.  There was rapture on their faces;
she saw it immediately, and knew its origin.  There was no mistaking that
special look.  She was glad.  Mating was of the Mother, for it
involved feeling, not thinking.  It would help Zena when the challenge
came.

She sighed. 
It had been many years since she herself had mated.  Since the time when
she had struggled so hard to give birth, something had felt wrong inside
her.  Once, she had tried to mate with Kropor, but it had hurt her, and
she had sent him to Toro and Metep.  It was not such a loss, she
thought.  She was not strong enough for mating anyway.