CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (4 page)

Another
vulture swept down to look at her, then another. Panic drove Zena deep into the
vine-entangled bushes.  There was no space to stand, or even crawl, so she
wriggled doggedly on her stomach along a vague track that became narrower and
narrower until she could barely squeeze through.  Frightened by the
confining space, she tried to retreat, but the vines were thickly entwined
above her and she could not turn.  So she went on.

Gradually,
the ground rose under her belly, and the vine-covered dirt gave way to a
surface of small rocks.  They pressed against her bruised flesh, but at
least the bushes were beginning to thin, so she could see what lay before
her.  Directly ahead was a narrow patch of bare ground, and beyond that
rose a short, rocky cliff.  A thick, overhanging ledge jutted out near the
top of the cliff.  Beneath it she saw a deep crevice, just wide enough for
her to enter.

Hesitantly,
she stretched one arm into the blackness, to test its depth, then maneuvered
the upper half of her thin frame into the hole.  Powdery dust rose in
thick swirls, and she sneezed violently.  Immediately she was afraid, lest
the vulture hear her and attack.  But at the same time she hesitated to go
farther. A sour odor she had not detected before emanated from the back of the
cave.  Sharp-toothed rodents or a nest of snakes, even a small hyena,
might live there.  In the darkness, she could not tell.

Suddenly
more fearful of an unknown danger than the vulture above, she began to back
out.  A sudden rush of wings startled her, and a shower of pebbles landed
on her exposed legs.  Zena peered up and saw the fierce bird settling its
chunky body on the ledge just above her.  It leaned toward her and stared,
its black eyes unblinking.

A
scream rose in her throat, but the muscles contracted and only a gurgle
emerged.  Quickly, she squeezed her whole body into the cave-like space,
drawing her legs close to her chest so the vulture could not reach them. 
Thick dust coated her throat, making her gasp and choke, and the sour smell
grew so strong she could hardly breathe.  Desperate, near hysteria, she
shoved her shoulders against the constricting ledge, pressed her knees against
the hard earth, trying to force more space.  Over and over, she arched her
back, pushed at the ground.  Suddenly, to her astonishment, it gave
way.  Her mouth gaped open in surprise, and her arms lunged forward
protectively.  The earth under her body had dropped away, and she was
falling....

She
landed with a thud on the dirt floor of another enclosure.  For a moment
she could see nothing, as dust swirled through the air.  But it settled
quickly this time, and she knew immediately that there was more light here,
more space.  The terrible blackness had given way to a murky gray glow
that emanated from two narrow shafts of brilliance behind her head. 
Lingering motes of dust danced and shimmered in their beams.  She stared
at them, entranced, then terror and her aching body pulled her back into
awareness. 

She
lay perfectly still, alert and wary, but no sounds came to her, from the world
outside or from the cave into which she had fallen.  It was silent, almost
odorless.  Slowly, her panic subsided.  There was no sign that any
other animal lived here, and she was certain the vulture would not come though
the dark space after her.  For the moment at least, she was safe.

Tired
now almost beyond endurance, she began to mew softly to herself for comfort, as
she had before.  For a long time, she  lay there, listening to her
own small noises. Gradually, the deep well of loneliness that stayed always
within her diminished, and she slept, relaxed and free of fear for the first
time since her mother's death.

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

Light
filtered gently into the cave.  Zena opened her eyes and frowned,
momentarily puzzled by her surroundings.  Then the memory of her fall
returned, and she sat quickly.  She was about two feet below the dark
space where the earth had given way, on a hard-packed earthen floor that
stretched for more than twice her length in every direction.  She tried to
stand, to explore the new space, but she bumped her head.  She crawled
instead, searching each corner of the refuge with her sensitive fingers. 
There were droppings, but they were very old and crumbled at her touch. 
She sniffed them delicately and then ignored them.

Behind
her, opposite the place where she had fallen, were the two openings through
which light entered.  One was only a crack, but the other was a long
narrow passage, just big enough to accommodate her small body.  Zena
wriggled into it, pulling herself upward with her elbows.  It led her to a
gap in the cliff above.  She scrambled out and studied the area, so she
would be able to find this entrance again.  Like the hole through which
she had fallen, it was well concealed behind dark slabs of rock, and was almost
impossible to spot from above.  Both entrances were too narrow for a
predator to use, but if a snake or smaller animal should threaten her, she had
a second exit through which to escape.  Few such refuges existed on the
African savannah, but because the ground had given way beneath her, she had
found a perfect one.

Remembering
the vulture, she listened carefully before she moved toward the ledge.  No
sounds disturbed her, so she clambered on top of the rocky outcropping and
stared down at the scene below.

The
pond lay motionless, pale gray in the early morning light.  All around it,
luxuriant grasses and flowers swayed gently in the light breeze.  Leafy,
wide-crowned trees decorated the banks of the river to the north, and the ridge
on which she stood was covered with bushes and vines, thickly clumped with
berries.  To her drought-accustomed eyes, the land looked infinitely
welcoming, rich with potential food and water.  She glanced behind her, as
if to call her mother, urge her forward to appreciate the abundance
below.  Even after many days, the habit of constant communication was hard
to break.

A
glimmer of brilliance caught her eye, distracting her from the sadness that had
abruptly spoiled her pleasure in the scene.  The ribbon of river had begun
to glitter, its gray turned to sparkling silver.  Then the sun rose over the
ridge behind her and touched the dark bulk of the mountains to the south. 
She stared, entranced.  The nearest peaks shimmered in pink and rosy
orange; the others withdrew toward the horizon in a succession of sunlit
mounds, each more richly colored than the one before. 

Another
sight intruded, and she frowned.  A thin plume of smoke rose lazily from a
mountain with a bowl-like summit.  The smoke seemed out of place, not
quite right.

A
herd of antelopes, golden-haired in the sunlight, appeared between two low
hills north of the pond and stepped gingerly down to the water.  They were
skittish; their delicate hoofs dug at the grasses, and they raised their heads
continuously to sniff the air, so Zena stayed where she was, watching.

Presently,
the cause of their nervousness became apparent.  A noisy band of pigs
trotted past the ridge that had concealed them.  Snorting and prancing,
they proceeded toward the pond.  Water flew into the air as they splashed
in the shallows and slurped up great mouthfuls made muddy by their trampling
hooves.  When their thirst was quenched, they rolled vigorously in the
mud, then jumped up, stiff-legged, to shake themselves.

Zena
did not move until the pigs had finished their raucous visit and headed back
into the hills.  Then she continued her exploration.  Farther along
the ledge, she found four spotted eggs in a nest made of thick twigs.  Her
memory of eggs was dim, but she knew at once they were good to eat.  She
was less certain about how to eat them.  She bit into one, but the shell
broke.  Not wanting to lose the contents, she shoved the whole egg into
her mouth.  The liquid was delicious, but bits of shell caught in her
throat when she tried to swallow.  Sputtering helplessly, she spat the
whole mess out onto the rocks.  Then she picked out the larger pieces of
shell with deft fingers and licked up the rest of the egg.  Grit from the
rocks accompanied it, but still the taste was wonderfully satisfying.

She
peered at the remaining eggs, considering whether to take them.  A noisy
pair of birds dissuaded her.  Screeching furiously, they flapped their
wings in her face and dived at her hunched shoulders.  Zena wrapped her
arms protectively around her head and fled downhill as their raucous complaints
died away.  The birds were not big enough to frighten her, but she did not
want to provoke another attack.  She would remember the eggs,
though.  Perhaps later she would return.

Now
she was thirsty.  She had no desire to maneuver her way through the
prickly bushes on her stomach again, so she searched for an easier way to get
to the pond. Soon she came across a narrow path on the other side of her
ledge.  She followed it down and was quickly buried in thorny
shrubs.  They pressed in on her, but there was space to stand upright, so
she continued.  The track smelled strongly of an animal she could not
identify.  Nervously, she scanned the area ahead.  If another
creature came up toward her, escape would be difficult.

She
rounded a bend in the path and came face to face with a pair of horns. 
They were long and twisted, and rose straight up.  The animal before her
started violently.  Bushes cracked sharply as it struggled to turn in the
confined space.  Another animal was behind it, and still another behind
that one.  All of them twisted around and ran back the way they had come,
their hooves thudding on the packed earth of the trail.  Shaking with the
suddenness of the encounter, Zena crouched silently at the edge of the path, in
case more animals came.  But nothing happened, and after a while she
continued on her way.

The
bushes ended abruptly.  Immediately below her was the pond, still and
sparkling.  Many antelopes, and a small herd of the animals she had
encountered on the path, grazed on its far side.  They raised their heads
and stared at her, then resumed their feeding.  Reassured by their calm,
she ran eagerly toward the water and knelt to drink.

Splashing
sounds near the center of the pond made her look up in alarm.  Tiny
creatures, slender and silvery in the sun, were leaping in and out of the
water.  Curious, she reached toward them, but they darted away.  Then
she saw a narrow gray shape swimming slowly past her hands.  It was longer
than the others, and its body swayed gracefully.  She tried to grab it, but
it slipped easily from her grasp.  Frustrated, she bent lower and then
gasped as water unexpectedly invaded her nostrils and sloshed up toward her
eyes.  She fell back in a heap, coughing and sputtering.  The
antelopes across the pond snorted and leaped away from the alien racket.

Zena
retreated, lest the water reach out at her again.  She sat and stared at
it for a long time.  Ripples broke its surface occasionally, but it did
not otherwise move, so she ventured close again and dared to thrust one foot,
then the other, into the soft mud below the water.  Her toes promptly
disappeared, but when she pulled them up, they were still there.  She
waded farther.  The air had become blisteringly hot as the sun rose to the
top of the sky, and the coolness on her scratched skin was wonderfully
soothing. 

A
trio of tiny yellow birds swam past her, peeping loudly.  Zena laughed as
they ducked beneath the water, tails pointed high in the air, then emerged with
weeds trailing from their pink bills.  She scooped beneath the surface to
see what they were eating, but the sodden plants she brought up were bitter to
her taste.  She dug deeper, into the soft silt near the edge of the pond,
carefully keeping her face away from the water.  Her probing fingers found
clumps of snails, a few wriggling tadpoles, and some long, trailing plants with
delicious white bulbs.

The
tiny silver fish she had seen leaping around the rock were everywhere; they
darted away, disappearing beneath the silt, each time she moved, so she stood
perfectly still.  Immediately, the fish began to nibble gently at her
ankles, making her jump.  The nibbling stopped, but began again as soon as
she was still.  Her hand flashed through the water, grabbed a tiny fish,
and brought it up to her mouth in a single gesture.  Smacking her lips
appreciatively, she chewed the delicacy.  Three or four more times, she
repeated this tactic.  Then, satisfied, she headed toward her cave.

The
eggs were still in the nest; she passed on, leaving them undisturbed.  She
was well fed already and had no need of more.  Sighing with contentment,
she curled up to rest on the ledge.  Even when the vulture circled near
her, she barely moved.  Now that she could duck into a secure hiding place
in moments, it no longer frightened her.  Only later, when darkness had
descended and an animal howled plaintively from the hillside, did her newfound
serenity waver.  Though the shock of her mother's death, the horror of the
tiger's attack, were beginning to fade, the longing to feel, to hear and smell
another like herself was strong.  But there was no one.

CHAPTER
THREE

An agonized scream
woke Zena. The sound sent shivers up her spine.  Before, the tiger's growl
had triggered her memory; now the scream itself forced her to remember the time
when a member of her troop had been killed by one of the big cats. Shuddering,
she listened for more screams, but there was only silence.

For a long time,
she lay unmoving, ears and eyes alert.  A different sound pulled her into
a wary crouch. Barely audible, the scrabbling noise came from the ridge
outside.  Automatically, she reached for a stone and clutched it in her
fist.

A new sound, a
thin mewing, joined the first.  Zena frowned, confused. This, too, was
familiar.  It was as if she were hearing herself, when her mother had
disappeared beneath the rushing water. Almost a year had passed since that
time, but she still remembered.