CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (42 page)

Of them all, this
daughter was also the hardest to lose.  The bond between them was very strong. 
They knew each other's thoughts without speech, felt each other's pain or
happiness as if it were their own.  But when one day Mina came to her and
spoke of a vision from the Mother, Zena hid her grief and hugged her daughter
warmly. 

“Beyond the great
water, there is more land,"  Mina said, "land that the Mother
has shown me.  This is where I must go.  The Mother awaits me
there."

Her young face was
alight with passion, with the joy of knowing the Mother had entrusted her with
a vision, as She had long ago entrusted a vision to her mother. 

Zena rejoiced with
her, and helped her to gather the supplies she would need for the journey,
despite the pain in her heart. When all was ready, she blessed Mina in the
Mother's name and smiled encouragement as the small procession headed into the
surrounding hills.  Only when the new wise one turned away for the last
time did she allow the tears to fall.  She knew she would never see her
again, this child who was the mother she had never known reborn.  But she
knew, too, that Mina was truly of the Mother and must follow her visions, as
Zena had followed her own.  Long ago, the Mother had led her to this
magnificent valley, and Zena did not doubt that She would one day lead Mina to
a paradise of her own.

She was right. 
Mina journeyed north and east for many seasons, until she came to the end of
the great sea.  There she discovered a place so bounteous it came to be
called the fertile crescent, for the land was shaped like the crescent of the
moon.  Her tribe prospered, and when it grew too large, she trained wise
ones to lead smaller groups into new lands, as her mother had.  She taught
them tolerance and peace, respect for the earth and all that lived upon it, for
that was the way of the Mother.  The new wise ones, in their turn, trained
others to teach the Mother's ways, and so the knowledge spread.

Slowly,
generations of these wise ones and their tribes dispersed across the
earth.  They traveled in all directions, to great continents and even
islands where none had trod before.  Everywhere they settled, they built
circles of stone where they could worship the Mother.  Some were so
massive no one, still, can explain their creation.  Others found caves to
shelter them when ice began to creep across the plains, for caves, too, were
circles of stone, built by the Mother Herself.  Thousands of years later,
their descendants gasped in awe when they beheld the magnificent drawings these
explorers left on the cave walls, to thank the Mother for Her bounty. 

Other tribes went
west and east to found great cities in the valley of the Nile and in the vast
reaches of the Orient.  As the years passed, they spread farther
still.  Mountains did not stop them, nor did oceans, no matter how
forbidding or tumultuous.  They journeyed onward until all the earth was
covered with their kind.  And all of them, every one, were descendants of
Zena's original tribe, the ones she had led across the savannah and the desert
to her valley paradise on the shores of the Red Sea. 

PART
THREE

The
Pyrenees

between
France
and
Spain

Fifty
thousand to thirty

Thousand
years ago

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

Zena eyed the
young male doubtfully.  Conar did not look promising.  He was small
and thin, with a downcast air, yet at the same time his body was stiff with tension. 
His eyes met hers, then he lowered them again.  But in that moment, she
saw something that made her frown in perplexity.  His eyes were not like
his body; they held an expression she could not fathom.  Was it
understanding of her situation, or caring, or perhaps hope?

Heartened, she
took his hand.  It was cool and clammy.  A sigh escaped him at her
touch, and some of the tension left his body.  Zena smiled at him. 
Conar's lips twitched up in response, then widened into an infectious grin.

"Come",
she said.  "I will show you my place.  I would like to share it
with you."

He did not answer,
but his hand tightened around hers, and he followed willingly.  He had
large hands, she noticed, larger than she would have expected for his
size.  She wondered why she had paid so little attention to him in the
past.  Probably it was because he kept to himself, always wandering off on
some pursuit of his own instead of joining the others.

She stole another
look at him.  Unguarded, his face was eager, almost joyous.  Zena
quickened her pace, excited now at the prospect of mating with him.  Conar
might be small and quiet, but he was also interesting.  Besides, desire
had been building inside her for two days, and he was the only young male in
the group with whom she had not yet mated. 

The Great Mother
and the wise woman who spoke for Her, her own mother as well, had made it clear
from the time of her first bleeding that she should invite each of the men in
her age group to mate with her, without showing favoritism.  When none
were neglected, jealousy did not spring up to cause trouble between the
men.  Zena was happy to comply.  She loved mating.  It was
always a pleasurable experience, and always different. 

The tribe had many
words for mating, or Akat.  There was Akate, or lustful mating, which was
often quick, and Akato, which was playful, full of laughter.  Akatale was
tender, Akatelo, slow and sensuous, and there were many combinations in
between.  Best of all was Akatalelo.  That was spiritual mating, or
"with the Mother," when two people soared together.  Zena had
not yet experienced that kind.  She was not likely to, either, with
Conar.  He was young and had little knowledge.  Probably this would
be plain Akat, mating that had no special flavor or was for teaching purposes,
when a woman showed a less experienced male how to proceed. 

Zena remembered
her own training at puberty.  How the women had laughed!  But there
was serious purpose behind the merriment.  Proper attention to mating
helped to keep peace within the group.  Without Akat, some of the men
became aggressive, and that was bad for everyone.  The women became
quarrelsome, and then the young ones grew cranky.  That was why the Mother
had given them Akat.  It was a special gift, one that should not be taken
lightly.

Conar smiled shyly
as Zena pulled him down beside her onto the soft moss in the enclosure she had
chosen as her mating place.  Shady and cool, the small meadow was
protected by a circle of tall trees.  Sometimes the earth was a bit damp,
but usually the sun overhead dried it, so that she could lie with her lover in
comfort.  The smells and sounds were wonderful. 

Zena sniffed
appreciatively, taking in damp earth, and floral scents from the flowering
bushes nearby.  But then she forgot to notice the smells, or the bird
calls that usually held her attention, for she had begun to stroke Conar's back
gently, and was immediately aware of a vibrancy in him.  Something tingled
just beneath his skin, infecting her fingers, so that they flew faster and
faster over his back and hips.  The tingling was in his fingers as
well.  He ran his hands slowly down her spine, and now all the clamminess
was gone from them.  His touch was warm, and infinitely caressing. 

Sighing with
pleasure, Zena relaxed completely.  Her hands slowed down, to match
his.  She stroked his buttocks in a lazy, compelling rhythm, felt his
answering strokes turn her body into liquid that felt like fire. 

She looked into
Conar's eyes.  This time he did not lower his lids but stared back at her,
so she could see his feelings.  It
was
caring in his eyes, she
realized.  Perhaps he had wanted very much to be with her? 

The thought
aroused tenderness, and she pulled him closer.  In response, he wrapped
his arms around her and hugged her hard. Then he unclasped her and reached down
to stroke between her legs, up and down, and almost inside her, but not
quite.  There was nothing rushed about his movements, though she had felt
his hardness against her stomach when he had held her. Some men became
impatient when they grew big and hard, and tried to hurry the mating.  But
Conar's hands and lips moved sensuously, almost lazily, and he seemed
intuitively to anticipate her desires, as if he understood her body as well as
his own.

During her
training, Zena remembered, her mother had told her that occasionally a man was
naturally good at Akat, and needed little instruction.  Conar seemed to be
one of these.  His whole manner had changed, become more confident, as if
he sensed he was special in this way.  Then she ceased to think at all as
he began to suckle her breasts lightly, using his tongue as well as his
lips.  A tingling sensation ran straight from her nipple to a place deep
inside her, and she groaned in ecstasy.

Excitement
engulfed her, a sensual excitement more compelling than anything she had known
before.  She reached down to caress Conar's hips, his buttocks, and felt
the excitement in him, as strong as her own.  It leaped between them,
gaining strength as it passed through their bodies.  Passion was in her
belly, her head, her fingertips, in his fingers, his loins, his very being. She
could feel it coming toward her in waves. 

She could not bear
to wait any longer.  She wanted him now, inside her.  Pressing her
hips against his, she spread her legs wide, an unmistakable signal of
readiness.  He understood; she could feel him move his hips into
position.  But then he backed away for still another moment.  His
tongue passed lightly, then more strongly over the exquisitely sensitive lips
of her vagina, and she cried out with pleasure, with the agony of waiting
too.  She clawed at his back, loving the tongue but wanting more.  He
groaned, a long, animal sound, and came inside her quickly, without
hesitation.  Once, twice, three times, he thrust at her, gently at first
and then more roughly.  She felt the tide rise in her, uncontrollable
now.  Within seconds, spasms rocked her body. 

Conar slowed his
thrusting.  He moved in deeply, then pulled away.  She cried out with
fear that he might leave her entirely - that she could not bear.  But he
came back and stayed very deep inside her, moving in a slow, circular
rhythm.  The sensations were delicate, exquisite.  The tide rose in
her again, overwhelming in its intensity.  Over and over, the spasms shook
her.  When they had slowed down, she wrapped her arms tightly around
Conar, loving him for the joy he was giving her. 

He began to move
again, harder now, and she clung to him.  But he escaped her arms; his
back rose in the air, rigid with tension.  He flung himself down again,
rose once more, and then his body shook with such force that Zena was almost
frightened.  A scream escaped his clenched mouth as the spasms
intensified, then diminished into a gentle shuddering.

He fell back onto
her body with a final shudder.  He was still inside her, but the strength
had gone from his organ.  Still, she felt the wildness begin to build up
inside her once again.  She let it have its way.  This time the
spasms were small but very piercing, a final explosion to pull any remaining
tension from her.  After that, she could not move at all. 

Zena lay back,
astonished.  She had performed Akat many times since her first bleeding,
but never had she experienced such intensity as this.

She studied Conar
curiously.  His eyes were closed, and his face was entirely
peaceful.  He looked vulnerable, and very young.  Probably he had not
mated much before.  His lack of experience certainly did not show. 

Perhaps, as one of
the women had hinted, the men had started their own learning sessions, and that
was why Conar was so skilled.  But Zena found the rumor hard to
believe.  Akat was the women's province.  More likely, as her mother
had said, Conar did not need teaching. 

Was he as
sensitive and responsive with others?  Perhaps she would ask her
age-mates, very subtly.  To ask a direct question would be rude.  The
women often discussed Akat among themselves, but they were careful not to
compare one man to another.  To do so might humiliate a man, and the
Mother taught that humiliation was wrong.  It was hard enough for men that
they could not create new life, as the women could.  Women were naturally
more like the Mother, closer to Her, for She was Giver of All Life, and women
givers of the tribe's life.  Men had been given no role in the
process.  That was another reason why mating was so important for
them.  Only when they were enclosed within a woman's body could they
experience oneness with the Mother.  Still, men were strong and often very
brave.  Zena admired them for their courage.

She sighed. 
It must be sad for the men.  But she herself was sad, for the Mother still
had not given her a child.  For two years, she had walked beneath the
Mother's tree, circling below its fruitful branches.  That alone often
started a little one growing in a woman's belly.  When nothing had
happened, she had knelt before the sacred Goddess figures, with their huge
bellies and swollen breasts, within the circle of stones.  The images were
special to the Mother, and she had been sure that would work.  But still
no child had come. 

This year, surely,
the Mother would grant her wish, Zena decided.   She would ask Conar
to make a special Goddess figure just for her, and keep it with her
always.  He made the best figures of all.

She rolled away
from him so she could see him better.  Her movement roused him, and he
propped himself on an elbow and looked shyly into her face.  She touched
his genitals gently, her eyes teasing, for now the organ was so tiny and
crumpled.  The joy left Conar's countenance, and he turned miserably away
from her.  Zena bent over him, compassion in her heart.  She had not
meant to hurt him.  Murmuring soothing words, she stroked him lovingly
until he looked at her again.