CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (44 page)

Tron stared back
furiously.  These people made too much fuss over the child, he thought
bitterly.  She had looked ready enough to him.  Besides, he had felt
lust and she had been there.  And there was nothing wrong with Akat. 
Menta told them that all the time.  But she had always singled him out for
punishment, made him feel wrong.  All of them had, even when he was a
child.  He had tried to show the other boys how strong he was, how skilled
even then at killing animals, to make them pay attention to him.  They had
avoided him instead, so he had hit them to show he did not care.  He liked
hurting them.  It made him feel better.  Now that he was grown,
nothing had changed.  The women took him to their places of Akat, but he
knew they preferred others.  Being rough with them gave him
satisfaction.  The men were no different.  They still avoided him,
even though he was the best hunter. 

He shrugged, to
let them know he still did not care what they thought of him, and turned away
from Menta's probing eyes.

The others waited
in silence for a time, sensing that Menta was seeking guidance.  Then they
began to mutter impatiently again.  The sounds roused Menta from her
trancelike state.

"It is time
now to hear from everyone who wishes to speak," she told them
gravely.  "All must be part of this decision."

Bly stood
courageously.  "I do not want him here," she said simply. 
"I speak not in anger, but in fear.  He could do this again, and
there are others, younger girls. Always, they will be afraid, and so will
we."

Heads nodded
vigorously, and others stood to say similar words.  One small girl,
clutching her mother's hand, brought tears to many eyes.

"I wish to
run and play in the woods," she told them.  "Now I will not dare
to follow the squirrels, and look for the tiny ones that live in the roots of
trees.  And I want to have my little sister with me."

Another child
stood, a boy this time.  "Tron is bad to do this," he said, his
young voice filled with disgust.  "Bad people cannot stay with
us.  The Mother does not want them.  So he must be sent away."

The oldest man of
the tribe, Bakan, was even more forceful.  He was wise and respected by
all, so the people listened carefully.  He glared at Tron as he spoke, and
the strength of the glare made Tron lower his eyes.

"All of us
who love the Mother, respect Her wisdom, find horror in this act.  The
women of our tribe represent the Mother, for their bodies create the Mother's
new life.  And it is through the bodies of our women that we, the men,
feel our oneness with the Mother.  To violate a woman's body is to violate
the Mother.  A man who would commit such an act does not belong here.

"There is
badness in Tron,"  he continued, speaking softly now.  "We
have known this before, but we have waited, hoping that he will change. 
He will not change.  He must be banished, and he must never be allowed to
return."

A younger man
jumped up.  "How can we know that he will leave us?  He could
lurk nearby and still do this terrible thing.  I think we should kill him
instead, so he cannot."

A babble of noises
emerged from the tribe.  To kill one of their own was the most terrible
act they could imagine.  Never before had this been suggested, and they
did not like the idea.  Even animals could not be killed without the need
for food, and they had to be blessed before it was right.

Katli stood to
speak.  "Once, in a group of wolves," she said slowly, choosing
her words with great care, "I saw one animal that was not right, and
turned on others of its kind.  The other wolves killed it.  They did
not eat it, but left it for the vultures.  They did this not in anger, I
think, but to save the group.  If they had not killed it, others might
have been born that were also bad.  Though many will not believe me, I
know that a bad animal can affect the young.  I have seen it happen."

Everyone listened
carefully to her explanation.  They had great respect for her knowledge of
animals, and they also admired wolves for their ability to live together
harmoniously.  If this was how the wolves solved a similar problem, it was
possible that killing could be justified.

Lune rose to her
feet.  Unlike her sister's, her long hair was ashen, so pale it was nearly
white.  Menta had been born of the earth, the people said, while Lune had
been born of the moon.  Though she was not as wise and calm as Menta, the
boldness of her thoughts was respected.

"Perhaps
there is another solution," she said in her firm voice, "one that is
safer than banishment, and not as terrible as killing.  We all know that
Akat helps to keep the men from fighting among themselves, or causing
trouble.  This is not working with Tron."

Murmurs of assent
came from the group.  They understood that without Akat, men could become
aggressive.  But Tron had not been neglected, and still he could not
control his temper, or his actions.

"I have
wondered," Lune continued, "if Akat works because it draws fire from
the place of mating in men.  Perhaps the sacs there are the place where
the desire to fight or hurt others lurks, and if they are not emptied, they
cause trouble.  In Tron, it is possible that these sacs should be removed
so that the fire in him can be taken away.  Then he will no longer wish to
cause trouble, or force himself on those who have not chosen him.

"Krost could
do this,"  Lune continued.  "He has done it many times when
animals are prepared for eating."

Eyebrows went up
as the people digested her words.  No one had ever considered such a
possibility before.  But Lune had deeper thoughts than most, especially
concerning the workings of bodies, and she could be right.

Krost, a big,
gentle man with craggy features, rose to respond.  Torment showed on his
face as he considered Lune's idea.  He had hunted many times with Tron,
and was as much his friend as any of them could be.  But he was also
fiercely loyal to the group, and would protect them with his life.  To
stand by silently and see them hurt would be wrong.

"Lune's
suggestion is possible," he agreed, "but it seems cruel too.  I
would not wish to do it."  He shook his shaggy head fiercely, seeking
to control his feelings before he spoke again.

"Tron must
tell us if he truly wishes to change.  If he does, then we should watch
him carefully to see if he means his words.  If he does not change, then
he must be banished.  I myself will make him promise not to stay near us,
and I will watch to see that he does not come back."

"I, too, will
watch," a deep voice asserted.  It was Tragar speaking.  He was
Krost's brother, born of the same mother.  Although he spoke little, he
was by far the strongest man among them. Tron would be wise not to return if
Tragar was waiting.

Heads nodded
everywhere as Krost and Tragar spoke.  Most people thought that Tron
should be given a chance, but that he would have to be banished forever in the
end.  They knew him well.  He was unlikely to change.

Zena looked up in
surprise as Conar stood.  Like Tragar, he did not often speak. The resolve
in his normally quiet tone was evident to all.

"I, too, will
watch," he said firmly, "and my watching will be different, for I can
move without sound."

Tron looked at him
disdainfully, but there was wariness in his eyes as well.  Conar was small
and weak compared to him, but he could move as silently as an animal, though he
never used this skill to hunt, as Tron did.  Instead, he tried to scratch
the forms of bison and other animals in the dirt and on rocks.  It seemed
to Tron a useless occupation.

Menta listened
attentively as a few others stood to voice an opinion, or to comment on the
options being considered.  When all had finished, she turned to Zena.

"You have not
spoken," she said gently.  Usually Zena was one of the first to
speak, and had strong opinions. 

Zena sighed
heavily.  Something was bothering her, as if another clue existed that no
one had addressed.  She went to Tron and stood directly before him.

"Do you know
how terrible was your act, Tron?  Do you know how badly you have hurt
Pila, and the Mother, and all of us?"   

"Akat is not
wrong," Tron muttered.  "The girl would have been ready soon
enough."

"Something is
lacking in Tron,"  Zena said so quietly that few heard. 
"Will he ever gain what is needed?"  Bewildered, she turned
away.

"I have not
yet decided," she told Menta in a stronger voice.   "I must
listen more for the Mother's guidance."

Some of the others
grunted in disapproval.  They wanted the matter settled, and Zena's
reluctance to speak meant they must postpone a decision.  But they did not
challenge her.  The name of Zena was given only to a few, those who would
one day serve the Mother in some special way.  Though she was still young,
they valued her ideas and would wait until she was ready.

Menta, however,
nodded approval.  Zena seemed to sense what she herself felt - that there
were questions still unasked, or solutions still not considered.  The
decision could not be made until these uncertainties were resolved.

"I, too, must
consult with the Mother," she told the tribe.  "I must go to the
Kyrie, where she awaits me.  Until we have decided, Krost and Tragar will
watch Tron, Conar as well."

The Kyrie was the
place high on a nearby hill where the wise woman listened for the Mother's
guidance.  No other person went there except a very young girl who brought
food and water and then crept silently away.  All the group knew that
Menta might stay in the Kyrie for many hours, perhaps all through the night and
into the next day, while she wrestled with a decision and waited for peace to
return to her heart.  Only then could she be certain she had found the
Mother's way.

Resigning
themselves to patience, they went off to perform their tasks or to sleep.

The wait was
long.  Two nights and most of the following day passed before Menta
emerged from her vigil.  Her face was drawn and weary when she finally
reappeared in the clearing, for she had hardly slept.  She had not eaten,
either, only taken water.  Hunger helped her thoughts to clear.  She
knew she had found the Mother's way, for she felt peace in her heart with what
she was about to do.  But agony still clouded her eyes.  The Mother
had given her a vision, a vision that had devastated her so badly she was still
unable to quell the turmoil in her mind.  Now she would have to relate
this terrible vision to the others, and shatter them as she herself had been
shattered.

Menta straightened
her shoulders determinedly.  They must do as the Mother asked.  It
was their only chance, the only way they could avoid the horrors her vision had
foretold.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

Thunder rumbled
ominously as the tribe gathered once again in the circle of stones.  All
day, black clouds had scurried across the sky, and now they had coalesced
against the western horizon.  Menta tilted her head back to watch
them. 

"The clouds
are like the words I will say," she told the others soberly. 
"They are black and brooding, waiting to spill their wrath upon us, but in
another way, they are different.  When the storm decides to come, we
cannot stop it.  We can only wait until it exhausts its fury, but we may
be able to stop the words I will speak from becoming real.  If we follow
the Mother's way, do what She has shown me, there is a chance."

She broke off as a
thin spear of lightning crackled through the sky.  The people watched her,
their faces uneasy.  Menta's words were ominous, her voice somber. 
That was not like her.

An unspoken
message flashed between Zena and her mother.  Something very unusual must
have happened at the Kyrie. 

Menta's next words
confirmed their impression.  "The Goddess has given me a
vision," she told them, "a vision that alters our decision.  It
takes us far from this time and into another.  In it are things I do not
wish to relate, but I must, if you are to understand what the Mother has asked
us to do."

She broke off
again, and the agony on her face was hard to behold.  When she continued,
the intensity in her tone brought shivers to every listener.  Still, they
had to strain to hear her at times, for her voice rose and fell and rose again
as the drama she had seen unfolded.

"I came to a
place I have never seen, far to the west, below the place where the mountains
loom," she began softly.  "In this place were caves, deep and
secure, that wound beneath the hills.  People were there, people like ourselves. 
They lived and worked as we do, except perhaps they knew more.  It was as
if they had discovered something in the caves, something that came from the
Mother and was sacred to Her."

Prickles of
suspense ran up Zena's spine.  Could this be the place she had seen in her
dream?  How was it possible that Menta should see the same place?

Menta's voice,
slow and gentle now, as if she were re-experiencing her vision, cut into her
thoughts.

"The people
are sitting outside a cave, in the evening, talking quietly among
themselves.  There is firelight, and a sound I cannot name, a beautiful
sound that seems to come from a reed one man holds.  The sound stops
abruptly, for the people have heard another noise, one that brings them to
their feet in fear.  It is the sound of weeping, terrible, wrenching
weeping.

"Suddenly, a
young girl bursts into the circle of firelight.  She is tall and slender,
and her hair is the color of sunlight.  It is she who weeps so
passionately.  There is blood across her cheeks, blood running down her
legs.  One of the women pulls her close and holds her until the weeping
abates and she can talk.  A man, a stranger, had come up behind her in the
woods and forced himself upon her, she tells them.  He cut her with his
sharp flint, on her face.