CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (54 page)

The next day,
indecision tormented her almost as badly as the dreams of the night
before.  Tron had not told her to come again, but that was because she had
not gone near him.  Probably he was waiting for her, and if she did not
go, he might kill her even if he had not spoken.

Furtively, she
stuffed some meat in an old basket and hid it under her bedding.  But when
she rose later, saying she must find more herbs, Menta placed a restraining
hand on her arm and looked closely into her face. 

"You are not
well, Nevilar," she said gently. 

Nevilar nodded,
her eyes on the ground.

Menta looked at
her for a long moment, then raised Nevilar's chin so she could look into her eyes.

"You are
frightened, Nevilar.  For two days now you have been frightened.  I
would like to know what has frightened you."

"Nothing has
frightened me," Nevilar muttered, but she could not keep the panic from
her eyes.  Tron would surely kill her if she spoke, but Menta could see
everything.  She would not be able to fool the wise woman much longer.

"That is not
true,"  Menta answered calmly.  She did not speak further, but
waited, and the posture of her waiting spoke of infinite patience.  She
would wait all day beside Nevilar to learn the truth, if that was necessary.

Nevilar's mouth
twisted painfully.  Part of her wanted to speak Tron's name, but the other
part was terrified to utter it, lest he kill her, right here, as she spoke.

Lune came up
beside Menta.  She regarded Nevilar gravely, but she, too, kept
silent.  The pressure of their combined gaze was too much for
Nevilar.  Her eyes darted frantically from one face to the other, and then
her lips began to move.

"Tron,"
she gasped out. "Tron frightens me."  She looked over her
shoulder, as if expecting him to leap from the bushes.

Lune's eyes
narrowed.  "Tron frightens you still, though he is dead?"

"He is not
dead.  He has come back from the dead."  Now that the words had
started, Nevilar could not get them out fast enough.  She babbled on and
on in a steady stream.

"He is not
dead; I have seen him.  He said he would kill me if I spoke, and he can
kill even when he is not here, for he is too powerful to die.  He can kill
whenever he wants, and I cannot stop him.  He has made me bring him food
and water, and I am afraid... Tron will kill me... He has come back, back from
the dead!"

Menta did not wait
to hear more.  "Watch her," she said to Bly and Bakan, who were
standing nearby.  "Keep her close to you, in the shelter."

She thrust Nevilar
into Bly's arms and ran toward the place where they buried the dead.  That
Tron had come back from the dead was impossible.  But had he truly been
dead?  Had any of them looked at him closely, to remember and cherish, as
they did with those they had loved?

Lune was already
there when she arrived, staring grimly at the empty space where they had left
Tron's body.

"He was not
dead," she said dully.  "It is my fault.  I did not go
close to him, or I would have known.  I am the one who examines those who
have died, tries to understand the reasons.  But I did not want to see his
face, after what he did to Zena, to our tribe."

"None of us
wished to,"  Menta replied.  "All were avoiding the task of
washing him, preparing him for burial.  More than the two days had
passed."

The transition
from life to death took time, they knew, so they did not bury the newly dead
for two days, but left the person in peace to commune with the Mother and
adjust to the change.  Usually, though, someone stayed nearby to make sure
the dead one was safe and comfortable.  No one had visited Tron.

Lune and Menta
looked at each other, hearing each other's thoughts without speaking.  The
sadness of being alone as Tron had been alone, in life as well as in the death
that had not after all been death, was terrible.  But so was the fear, the
pain he had brought to them, could bring again.  To believe he was dead
had been comforting.  Now, Tron's violence once again threatened the
tribe.  Worse, all that the vision had shown could still occur.

"Zena,"
Lune whispered suddenly, and Menta thought she had never heard such anguish in
a voice.  "We must find her, before Tron does."

"Let us look
for Tron first,"  Menta urged.  "He could not have gone
far."   

Lune nodded. 
They sped back to the clearing to question Nevilar and organize a group to
search.

"Speak,
Nevilar.  Tell us where Tron rests.  He is not at the place of the
dead."

"In my place
of mating," Nevilar whispered.

"Take us
there," Lune told her in the same uncompromising tone.  Menta
signaled to Krost and Tragar and some of the others to come as well, to
continue the search if necessary.

"Hurry. 
We must hurry,"  Lune prodded. 

Reluctantly,
Nevilar began to run, but when they arrived at her glen, it was empty. 
The remains of the food Tron had eaten, his sour smell and patches of blood
were there, but there was no sign of him, even when they scoured the bushes
thoroughly. 

"The tracks
tell me he left many hours ago,"  Krost told Menta, following signs
that were almost invisible to those not trained in tracking.  "We can
try to find him, but it will not be easy, after the rains we have had."

He was
right.  Just before the darkness was complete, he and those who had
searched with him returned without Tron.

 "We
will go again tomorrow,"  Krost assured Lune, glancing at her
agonized face.  "We could not find him.  His tracks disappear,
and we could not find them again.  He travels faster than I had expected
of one so wounded."

Menta shook her
head. "We must look for Zena instead," she told him.  
"I have spoken with Lune, with Bakan and the others.  Now it is most
important to find Zena.  Conar has followed her, but he alone cannot
protect her from Tron if Tron wishes revenge.  She must be warned, but she
must also be told that she has not killed.  This is important for her to
know."

"How shall we
find her?"  It was Katli speaking, and her gruff voice was
dubious.  She, better than most, knew how vast was the land around them.

"All of us
must think hard, of anything Zena has said that might tell us.  We must
call on the Mother, too, in this time of need, to help us, give us the feeling
of where she might be."

A small voice
interrupted.  "She might go to the mountains, I think.  Once, I
heard her speak to Conar of her dream."

The voice stopped
abruptly as Lilan, Conar's small sister, put a hand over her mouth in
consternation. She had followed Zena and Conar that day, hoping they would
include her, but they had gone to Zena's special place instead. Soon after, Lilan
had left, ashamed to be listening when they did not know she was near.

"I did not
mean to follow," she said, her lips trembling.  "It was just
that I wanted so badly to have them take me to see the animals, so I could draw
them as Conar does." 

She looked
hesitantly at the expectant faces.  Lune rose and came to sit beside her.

"Tell us of
this dream, Lilan," she said gently. "It is not good to follow
without telling others; that is true.  But still it is good that you heard
of Zena's dream, for you might truly help us to find her."

"It was in
the mountains, over there," Lilan responded, pointing to the west. 
"She said there were caves in the hills, and long tunnels, and that
something waited for her there."

Lune
frowned.  This dream sounded strangely like Menta's vision.  Could
Lilan have mixed them up?  But it also sounded like something Zena would
say. 

"It is good
that you have told us this,"  she assured Lilan, so she would not be
afraid to tell them more.  

Menta, too, was
surprised to hear of the dream that was so like her vision.  Zena had not
spoken of it.  Perhaps she had been keeping it to herself until she
understood it better.  Zena always liked to think hard before she
spoke.  That was good, a sign of wisdom.  Still, it was also good
that Lilan had heard.  Her knowledge might save them much time and
worry.  Unless, of course, Tron also knew of the dream. 

"Did she tell
others, do you think?"

Lilan shook her
head.  "I do not think so," she said slowly, her small face
grave with the responsibility of trying to remember.  "I think she
said it was their secret."

Her lips trembled
again.  The burden of hearing another's secrets had weighed on her, and
she felt better now that she had spoken.  Still, it was hard to admit she
had listened.

"The Mother
Herself put you there, I think,"  Menta told her.  "As Lune
says, it is not good to listen without others knowing, and you must be careful
not to do it again.  But in this case, I believe the Mother was helping
all of us through you.  You should be proud to be so chosen."

Lilan's face lit
up with the unexpected honor.  "I will be very careful," she
promised.

Menta nodded,
certain this was true.  Lilan was a lovely child, pure and
unspoiled.  Her drawings were remarkable for one so young.

"Let me hear
what each thinks,"  Menta told the others.  "It is very
possible that Zena has gone to the mountains.  I myself feel that it is
so."

"I,
too," Lune said, satisfied now that Lilan spoke the truth.  The
others nodded, agreeing.  To go to a place of which she had dreamed, where
something waited for her, sounded like Zena.

"Then we will
go find her," Menta said simply.  "Tomorrow, as soon as the
light comes.  Tonight, we will get ready."

"That is
good," Bakan agreed.  "It is time anyway to follow the herds, procure
our meat for the winter before the snows are too deep.  We can hunt as we
travel."

"What of
Tron?"  Bly's voice was sad as she looked at her daughter,
Pila.  While Tron was dead, she had ceased to worry.  Now, she was
frightened again.

"Tron's fate
is in the Mother's hands now,"  Menta replied.  "But I do
not believe he will linger here.  He wishes to be far away from this
place.  And somehow, I do not think he looks for Zena, either.  I
have felt Zena struggling, but now I believe she is safe."

"Will we find
enough animals for our winter food if we go west?"  Katli still was
not certain about the new plan.  It seemed to her that it would be best to
find Tron, make certain he did not harm anyone again.  She had admired
Zena for killing him. Sometimes, it was necessary to kill for the benefit of
all.  Still, she trusted Menta's judgment and would do whatever the tribe
decided.

"I have seen
many animals turn west along the river into the big valley,"  Tragar
volunteered. "Bison are there, and reindeer, though I do not know if there
are as many as in the plains to the north."

"We will find
enough,"  Menta assured them.  "I feel the Mother's hands
in these events.  Perhaps it is not only Zena for whom something waits in
the mountains.  Perhaps it is the Mother Herself who waits for all of us
there, and it is Zena who leads us to Her.  We shall go there and
see." 

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

The huge man
peered out at Zena from his hiding place behind a rock.  Despite his
thick, heavily muscled frame, he could move as quickly and silently as the
lions and tigers with whom he competed.  Like them, he stalked the
reindeer, even the bison, crept up upon them so he could plunge his spear into
their thick hides.  The others helped him, even the children.  They
had to.  Many were needed to take an animal, and few were left in his
tribe.  Most of the women had died in childbirth or been stolen by the
fierce hunters from the north, where they had once lived.  All the men
save himself and one other had died trying to defend the tribe from these
savage people.  He had led his people south to escape them, to escape the
ever-increasing cold and snow as well, but now hunting threatened to kill still
more.  To hunt with so few was dangerous.  All of them bore the
scars.  Yet they had to hunt, if they were to live. 

He should be
hunting now, but he was unable to repress his fascination with the slender
woman, the one who could ride the bison.  He had taken her to the man in
the big cave when he had found her, for he had sensed they belonged
together.  There was meaning in their coming, he suspected, though he
still did not know what the meaning might be.  The strangers did not seem
strong enough to be of much help.  The man was as thin and undernourished
as the woman, and all he had done in the time they had been here was scratch at
the rocks within the cave.  Still, he had helped the woman when she was
too cold.  That was in his favor.  But neither of them would be much
good at the hunt, of that he was certain. 

He would continue
to watch them, see what they did.  Now, he must join the others. 
Soundlessly, he scrambled up the cliff face and disappeared among the rocks.

Zena looked up,
alerted not by a sound, but by the feeling of a presence.  She had felt it
often in the months she had been in this place.  Oddly, the presence did
not frighten her.  It did not feel the same as when Tron had watched from
the tree.  This presence was curious, not dangerous.

"Do you feel
it?" 

Conar was drawing,
so absorbed that he hardly heard her question.  "Feel what?" he
asked.

"Someone
watches," Zena answered.  "Perhaps it is the one who carried
me."

Conar grunted and
went back to work.  He had been drawing ever since the day Zena had
arrived.  He used the colors in the rocks, mixed them with water to make
brown and orange and black, sometimes a reddish shade, to outline the shapes of
bison on the rocks.  Zena could see them easily now, as he had seen them
even before he had created their forms.  They leaped and soared across the
walls of the cave, as graceful and strong in Conar's representation as they
were in life.