CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (45 page)

"The people
are horrified.  They have never known such a thing to happen.  They
do not know what to do.  The men leap up to find the stranger and bring
him before the council, but he has hidden himself so cleverly that they cannot
see him.  They try to sleep, but they are afraid.  All night they
listen for the sound of footsteps.  They know the man is out there
somewhere, waiting to hurt another.  They can feel the hatred in his
heart; it comes through the night to pound at their own hearts.

"In the
morning, they can still feel it, and all through the day.  But nothing
happens, and they think the man has left.  They do not watch so
carefully.  This time, two women are assaulted, and the man who tries to
protect them is wounded.  The stranger thrusts his flint into the man's
arm, and binds the women with vines so they cannot struggle while he forces
Akat upon them."

Exclamations of
horror filled the clearing.  Never, in all their lives, had any member of
the tribe heard of behavior like this.  It was almost impossible to
believe that any man would act so cruelly toward others.  

Menta held up her
hand.  "There is worse to come,"  she said quietly, and her
voice was filled with an anguish so deep that Zena wanted to put her hands over
her ears, to blot it out.  She squeezed her eyes shut instead, as if to deny
the ghastly images Menta had placed in her mind.  Hot tears of rage, that
any man should commit such atrocities, surged against her eyelids and careened
down her cheeks.

Menta took a
ragged breath, and when she spoke again, her voice came hard and strong.

"There are
other men, men who have forgotten the Mother.  They are young and
ruthless, hunters from fierce tribes, and they admire those who kill without
caring, without remorse.  More of them come, many more.  They roam
the land, violating the women, killing the men, for they know no other way to
behave.

"Together,
these cruel men prey on other tribes.  They creep up on the people as they
sit around their fires at night, and jump upon them without warning. 
There is no way to stop them, for they have terrible sharp flints, and they
draw them across the throats of the men before they can defend themselves, and
point them at the women's breasts as they recoil in horror.  They tie the
women, the young girls, and force them to come, and the children are left
behind, screaming for their mothers."

Sounds of muffled
weeping came from the people, but Menta did not hear.  All her attention
was focused inward, on the vision only she could see.  She was straining
now, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Much time has
passed," she said suddenly.  "Much time, more than we can think
of.  Many things have changed.  There are more people, and they live
in different ways.  Their shelters are big now, so big that whole tribes
can live in them. There are fields, and strange tools..." 

Her brow cleared,
as if the vision had suddenly come into focus, and her voice came louder and
louder as she pushed out the words to describe what she was seeing.

"The men have
something in their hands.  They are like our flint knives, but they are
longer, and sharper, and they gleam in the sunlight.  I do not know what
they are, but they are terrible things, used only to destroy.

"More than
anything else, the men love these strange knives.  They do not love the
Mother, or even know Her.  They love only the knives.  Everywhere
they go, they hold their knives before them, to kill and hurt and
mutilate.  And because they know no other pleasure than that which comes
from their knives, their sexual organs become like knives to them.  It is
as if they have killed Akat with their knives.  They violate women with
their organs, even small girls, and then they use the threat of their glinting
knives to hold the women captive, make them do the hard work for all and beat
them if they are too slow.  With their knives, they kill the men, and
every time they come to a new place, they even kill - "

Menta's voice
broke.  She was almost shouting now, and despair was written on her
face.  For a moment, it seemed that she might not be able to go on. 
But then, with an immense effort of will, she thrust out the last words in a
howl of anguish. 

"They even
kill the children," she exploded, pounding the air with her fists for
emphasis.  "They kill infants and small children.  I have seen
it, seen them die!  It is as if they kill the Mother Herself when they
kill the children.  I can feel Her pain, hear Her weeping.

"This cannot
come to pass!"  Menta screamed.  "We cannot let it
happen!"

Menta's final
scream lingered long in the air, and when it died away the clearing was utterly
still.  No one could speak or even move.  They could not absorb the
words Menta had just spoken.  They were too terrible, too
unthinkable.  Everything she had told them was unthinkable, but to kill
infants and children was truly beyond their capacity to imagine.  Children
were gifts from the Mother, to be loved and cherished and cared for by
all. 

Minutes passed in
silence.  Then, one by one, the people stood and began to mill about, too
upset to sit still.  But Zena did not stir.  She felt numb, as if all
the strength had been drained from her body and would never return.  Would
she ever be the same again?  It did not seem possible.  Something
inside her, some place of peace, had been shattered.  She could feel it in
there, like a broken jug that could not be repaired.    

Abruptly, the
shattered thing came together again, but in a completely different way. 
It was as if all her innards had only one purpose now.  She must prevent
these horrors from happening.  If it was in her power, she must stop the vision,
never let it turn into reality.

"To kill the
children."  She muttered the words to herself.  Still they made
no sense.  If a little one was badly hurt and could not survive, they gave
it herbs so it would go quickly back to the Mother, without feeling pain. 
But to kill for no reason?  No.  That simply was not possible.

An immense feeling
of relief suddenly invaded her, and she almost laughed.  Of course, no one
would do the things Menta had described.  Even Tron would not.  The
Mother must have given them the vision so they would remember how beautiful
were their lives, how filled with joy.

Menta seemed to
read her thoughts.  "The terrible happenings I have described are
hard to believe," she said quietly.  "But the Mother has shown
them to me, so they are true. 

"I do not
know if the first man, the stranger, is Tron," she continued, " but I
believe it could be so.  If we banish him, this is what he might do, so he
cannot be banished.  He cannot be killed either, because then we will do
what none has the right to do - kill in anger.  There is no peace in
killing a man like Tron.  Always, his spirit will be there, infecting us,
keeping the turmoil in our hearts, so that we cannot be one with the
Mother.  She has shown me that, too." 

"What, then,
can we do?"  Bakan's voice betrayed no emotion, and his calmness
quieted the group's agitation.  Menta glanced at him gratefully. 

"There is a
way," she told him.  "I cannot be certain it will work, but we
must try.  But the Mother has shown me only the first part of our
task.  After that, I do not know, except that the pattern will emerge as
it must."

Zena looked up
abruptly, feeling Menta's penetrating eyes upon her.  There was compassion
on the wise woman's face, and a terrible sadness.  Chills ran up Zena's
spine and into her scalp.

"What we must
do will be hard,"  Menta told the waiting tribe.  "But it
will be especially hard on Zena.  She is the one chosen by the Mother to
accomplish this task, or to try.

"It is you,
my child," she continued, addressing Zena directly, "who has been
designated by the Mother to try to change Tron, for that is the only
solution.  But you must never feel you have failed if this cannot be done,
or if the outcome is not as we desired.  The Mother has shown me no
further than this."

Zena bent her head
to hide her fear.  She did not want to be the one, yet she knew she must
be, had felt it already in the strange broken feeling that had so quickly
resolved itself into determination.

She compressed her
lips to stop their shaking.  "What is it I must do?" she asked
bravely, but the tremor in her voice was audible to all.

Menta answered
gently, reassuringly.  "You alone cannot change the vision.  For
this, we will need more guidance.  Your role is simpler, and perhaps not
so hard.  What the Mother asks of you is to try to teach Tron to see what
is in people's faces, so he will learn what he should and should not do. 
He is grown, yet still he does not know these things.  Even a child can
see better than he when joy or grief suffuses a face.  Especially, he does
not know how to see the true signals for Akat.  He sees desire where it
does not exist, and fails to see it when it is there.  I have observed
this many times."

Zena nodded in
immediate agreement.  Menta was right.  She had given a name to the
thing that was lacking in Tron.  For a moment, she was excited to have
found the answer to a question that had puzzled her badly.  But then
apprehension, and a terrible sense of dread, suffused her.  Her resolve
vanished.

"How is it possible
to teach such a thing?" she protested.  "I do not think he will
listen to me."

"The Mother
will show you the way,"  Menta replied calmly. "And all of us
will help you, even the children.  They, too, are learning.  There
will always be someone watching Tron as well. You will not be alone."

Zena sighed. 
What the Mother asked of her, she would try to do.  There was no other
way.  But it was hard to see how changing Tron would change the horror of
the vision Menta had related.  Still, as Menta said, they could only do as
the Mother requested.  Then, surely, She would guide them further.

Her apprehension
dissipated a little, but another thought took its place.  "Can we be
sure he will act as he should when he has learned to read our
faces?" 

"This I cannot
answer until we see if Tron changes,” Menta answered.  “It is your job
only to try to teach him.  Then, if Tron still does not understand the
true signals for Akat, Lune's solution may be needed.  But we will wait
and see."

Menta pointed
abruptly at Tron.  "Remove the bindings from his head," she
instructed. 

Before she had
started to tell of the vision, Menta had asked Krost and Tragar to pad Tron's
ears with a thick wad of leaves bound with vines, so he could not hear. 
It had taken the combined strength of both men to accomplish the task. 
Zena had wondered at the request, but now she understood.  Menta had not
wanted Tron to hear, for her words might make him believe he should act in the
way she had described.

Zena studied his
face.  She saw anger, a stubborn hardness, but was there hatred, the kind
of intense hatred Menta had described in her vision?  She did not think
so.  But as the men took the bindings from his ears, he glanced at Menta
and a bitterness so strong it was almost hatred showed in his eyes.  Menta
did not flinch.  Her gaze pierced him, seemed to see into the farthest
recesses of his thoughts.

"Stand,
Tron," she said.  Grudgingly, he rose to his feet.  Menta came
close to him and spoke sternly.

"You have
violated Pila.  You have violated her mother, and all who live in this
tribe.  You have violated the Goddess, and that will not be
forgotten.  None of these things will be forgotten.  Most of the
people here wish to see you banished, not just for a time, but for all the time
that remains to you. 

"The Mother
has shown us a different way.  She wishes you to learn better what is in
our faces, so that you will know when Akat is appropriate and when it is
not.  But because you have violated Her, She forbids you Her supreme gift,
the gift of Akat, until the time when you have learned Her ways, and can show
us that you understand the women's wishes."

She stopped for a
moment to see if Tron would speak.  But his lips remained firmly clasped
together, and his eyes were expressionless.

"If you learn
willingly," Menta continued, "the time will be short.  If you do
not learn willingly, much time could pass.  It is up to you.  Tell me
now if you agree to this."

Tron looked down
at the ground, and now his face was sullen.  Zena was certain, though, that
he was very surprised, even if he did not let the surprise show.  Surely,
he had expected to be banished, at least for a time.  Perhaps he had even
begun to think what he would do, where he would go.

His comment showed
her she was correct.  "I will leave," he said stubbornly.
 "I have no wish to stay here."

"That way is
not open to you.  You must learn to read our faces, as the Mother has
instructed."  The authority in Menta's voice could not be challenged.

"How, then,
should I learn these things?"  Realizing he had no choice, Tron gave
in, but his voice was contemptuous.  He knew well enough already when
women wanted Akat, even if they did not know it themselves.

"Zena will
teach you," Menta replied.

Tron's eyes shot
up at Menta's words and fastened on Zena.  A flash of pure hatred blazed
in his face, then he lowered his eyes again and shrugged.

A dark lump of the
hatred she had seen lodged in Zena's belly.  It was as if Tron had thrown
it at her, forced it into her just as he had forced himself into Pila. 
She shivered violently.  Tron was capable of hatred.  She had seen
it.  And all of it was directed at her.

Tron looked up
again.  Now his eyes were blank.  She sensed he had not meant to let
her see that brief flash.  And later, when he seemed to resent the lessons
less strongly, he became cooperative, even friendly.  Zena almost began to
enjoy him.  But some part of her remained wary, as if she knew deep inside
herself that he was only biding his time.