CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (57 page)

The sound
reverberated around them.  The walls must be very close.  Zena
reached out and realized she could barely extend her arms.  As she went on
the width of the passage became smaller and smaller until she could barely
squeeze through.  Panic assaulted her, that she would be crushed, would
not be able to turn around, go back again.  And then she suddenly realized
something.

"It is
dry," she exclaimed.  "The walls are dry, like the walls when we
first came in."

She forced herself
to go on despite the claustrophobic sense that she might never extricate
herself from the ever-tightening space.  Behind her, she heard Conar's
rapid breathing.  He, too, must be very frightened.

"Hoo,"
she called again, to distract them from their fear.

"Hoo," came
an answer.  Zena stopped abruptly.  That was not her voice coming
back.  It was not Conar's voice either.

"Hoo,"
she called again.

"Hoo," came
the answering call. 

Zena made the
sound many times in a row.  The sounds came back in the same way. 

Conar clutched her
arm.  "Someone is in here," he gasped.  "We must find
the person."

"Who is
there?" he called out.  This time the response was different. 
Instead of the owl sound, they heard laughter.

"The
children!" Zena exclaimed.  "It must be the children."

She moved forward
as rapidly as she could, calling as she went.  There was no answer, but
she thought she heard the clatter of rocks as someone scrambled down the
cliff.  And then, as she turned the corner, there was light, blessed,
brilliant light.  It dazzled her eyes, made her shout with joy.  She
ran into it, weeping with the wonder of seeing again.  Rubbing the tears
away, she stared at the world around her as if she had never before seen plants
and trees, or clouds in the sky. They were beautiful, magnificent.  Never
would she forget how wonderful they were.

Conar's face as
rapturous as her own.  "The big cave was beautiful," he said
fervently, "but this is even better."

The two little
boys were at the bottom of the cliff, staring at them with awe-struck
eyes.  They must have been playing up here, Zena realized with immense
gratitude.  But for their laughter, their imitations of her sound, she and
Conar might never have found their way out.  Next time, they must have
flares that would last longer.

The two boys
turned suddenly and ran back to their shelter, calling excitedly.  Zena
and Conar followed, curious to know what they were saying.

The shallow cave
was imbued with warm, brilliant light.  That must be why the Big People
had settled here instead of in the larger cave she and Conar inhabited. 
Here, the morning sun would give heat that would last almost all day. 

The big man looked
up in wonderment as Zena and Conar entered.  Was it possible that they had
power over the rocks as well as the bison?  The boys had told him the two
strangers had been inside the cliff, making noises like owls, had emerged as if
the rocks had opened for them.  He would go look at this place for
himself, to see if such a thing could be.

He came over to
Zena and touched her forehead gently in a gesture of thanks.  The others
followed, their eyes filled with reverence.  The man was powerful, but the
woman had even more power, for she had healed the child as well as riding the
bison and walking through the rocks.

Zena and Conar
regarded each other uneasily.  To be viewed with such awe was
disconcerting.  Perhaps if they could talk with each other, some of the
strangeness would disappear.

Zena spoke in a
friendly tone.  "I am Zena.  This is Conar,"  she
said, pointing to herself and then to Conar.

"Gunor,"
the big man responded, pointing to himself.  He pointed to the
child.  "Pulot."  His voice had the strangely nasal sound
Zena had noticed before, and the way he made sounds was unusual.  Still,
she would get used to it.

She went over to
the child.  "You feel better now, Pulot."  The child
giggled at the sound of her voice and watched curiously as Zena examined
her.  The red streaks were almost gone, the fever too.  There would
be no need now to watch over her all day.  Zena was relieved.  After
the long night, the frightening experience in the tunnels, she wanted only to
sleep.

The next day Gunor
appeared with strips of meat and laid them by the fire.  "I feed
you," he said, gesturing to the meat, then to their mouths.  "I
good hunt."  He ran a few steps, wooden spear in hand, and thrust it
toward the bison, to show how he hunted.

"Thank you,
Gunor," Zena replied, thrilled by his offer.  Conar repeated her
words with even greater sincerity.  He hated the thought of killing the
animals he adored, but he, too, had realized they could not live through the
winter without meat.

Gunor nodded,
gratified by their obvious appreciation.  Zena followed him to his cave to
check on Pulot.  She was recovering nicely, though it would still be many
days before she walked.  And even then, she would limp.  One of the
boys limped too she had noticed.  Many of them had scars as well, or bones
that had not healed properly.

A few days later,
she discovered the reason.  She and Conar had climbed a hill in search of
a type of nut that came very late in the season.  They could not be eaten
until they had been pounded and mixed with water, but they had a delicious
taste then.  Below them spread the valley she had traveled with the
bison.  A herd of reindeer was grazing there now.

"Look!"
Conar called to her.  Zena turned and saw the whole group of Big People,
all but Pulot and the old woman, creeping up on a herd of reindeer.  They
were stalking them from all directions, trying to separate one or two animals
from the others.  One of the reindeer, a big, heavily antlered creature,
spotted a child and turned on him, tossing its antlers and stamping.  The
boy leaped nimbly away.  The second boy came closer, waving his arms and a
short wooden spear.  The two women followed and charged at the animal, to
drive it in the direction of the waiting men.  The reindeer bolted, almost
trampling one of the men.  He shoved his spear toward its belly, but it
kicked furiously and ran off.  The group began to stalk again.

Zena's breath left
her lungs with an audible sound. "So that is how Pulot was wounded,"
she said, her voice heavy with awe at the child's courage.  "Except
they charged the bison then."

"It is not
surprising so many are wounded,"  she added.  "They have
courage, great courage, to go so close."

"They do not
throw the spear," Conar objected.  "Why do they not throw the
spear instead?"

"Perhaps they
do not know how.  Or perhaps the spears are not sharp enough, and they
must be close."

"We must look
more carefully at them."  Conar frowned, sorry now that he had so
little knowledge of hunting.  If he knew more, he could help the Big
People find a less dangerous method.  He had not hunted himself, but he
was sure the hunters from his own tribe threw their spears before they came
close for the kill.

Zena's words
reflected his thoughts.  "I wish now the others were here, so they
could show the Big People how they hunt.  They make the spears
differently, and they do not need to go so close to persuade an animal to be
killed."

She sighed
heavily.  There was another reason why she wished the others were
here.  Each full moon since she had banished herself had passed without
any bleeding.  Now a third month had come and gone, and she was
sure.  Finally, the Mother had given her a child, but instead of the joy
she had expected to feel, there was only a pervasive feeling of wrongness, a
terrible sadness that she could not speak of this to Lune, to Menta, to the
others.  It did not seem right to have a infant without a tribe to greet
it. 

Yells from below
interrupted her musings.  The hunters had succeeded in separating a young
reindeer from the group.  Killing it quickly, they dragged it into the
bushes and began to cut it apart.  But now another threat appeared.
 A lion that had crouched unobserved in the underbrush charged toward the
group.  The men continued to slash hunks of flesh from the reindeer, while
the others yelled loudly and waved their spears.  The lion backed off,
snarling.  Another lion crept up beside it.  For a moment, the two
massive predators watched, and then they charged.  This time, Zena saw,
they would not be stopped. 

The men kept cutting
until the last moment, then threw the meat as far as they could into the bushes
and ran after it.  The women snatched up the children and followed. 
Miraculously, the whole group escaped.  A few moments later, they started
up the hillside, lugging the meat.  The two boys scampered ahead,
laughing, seemingly unconcerned by the dangers they had faced.

No wonder they are
so strong and sturdy, Zena thought.  They must have to hunt like this
almost every day to get enough to eat.

They seemed to
depend almost entirely on meat, she had noticed.  She had never seen them
eating grains and tubers, only a few berries.  She might not be able to
help with the hunt, but she could help by showing them some of the other foods
that were available.  Even when snow covered the ground, there were always
a few berries, even edible twigs. 

As soon as they
returned, she and Conar put together a basket of various foods they had
collected and took it to the Big People.  They accepted it with gratitude,
but they looked surprised at the contents.

Gunor tried to
explain.  He used his hands as much as words, and Zena was able to grasp
his meaning.  Waving his arms to the north, he shivered violently, then
pointed to the grains and shook his head.  They had come from the north,
his gestures said, where it was very cold and there were no grains.  He
blew then, imitating the wind, and showed the depths of the snow. 

They must have
traveled south to this place, to escape the snows, Zena realized.  Perhaps
that was why the cold did not seem to bother them.  She and Conar needed
furs stuffed with grasses for their feet, and they had stitched together other
furs, given to them by Gunor, so that they covered most of their bodies. 
The Big People wore only a small fur slung around their waists, perhaps their
shoulders. 

She
shivered.  The air might not seem cold to them, but it did to her. 
Already, the frozen ground was covered with a thin blanket of snow, and soon
there would be more.

Zena's thought was
more accurate than she knew.  That night, a massive snowstorm began. 
The white flakes fell all through the dark hours, all through the day that
followed.  At first, they dropped slowly, as if part of a beautiful
dance.  Then the wind came bustling in from the north and blew the icy
drops straight into their faces with savage intensity.  She tried to go
out, to look at Pulot, but the wind drove her back.  Later, during a brief
lull in the storm, she tried again.  She had reached the hill above the
cave when a figure suddenly loomed below her, almost invisible  through
the driving snow.  Thinking it must be Gunor, she struggled toward
him. 

"Zena!" 
The sound was muffled by the snow, carried aloft by the howling wind, and
reached her only faintly.  But it was a man's voice, she was sure of that. 
She went closer, surprised that Gunor was using her name.  He had not said
it before.

The figure waved
his arms, and she stared in confusion.  He was not wide enough for Gunor,
or any of the big people.  But he must be one of them, for Conar was inside.

"Zena!" 
the call was louder now, and there was desperation in the voice.  The
figure fell and did not rise again.

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

Zena ran. 
Someone who knew her name was out there. But who could it be?  She
dismissed the question and concentrated on shoving one foot, then the next,
through the deep snow.  The figure was moving now, trying to get to his
feet.  He was big, not wide like Gunor, but tall like Krost and
Tragar.  Tron too had been big like that.

Tragar!  It
was Tragar!  But what was he doing here?  Zena bent over him, tried
to help him rise.

"The
others," he gasped.  "The others are out there.  They will
die..."

Zena stood
perfectly still, unable to believe.  The others -they had come!  She
was dizzy for a moment with the relief of it.  Then she charged into
action.

"Stay
there," she yelled at Tragar.  "I will get help."

Tragar nodded and
slumped back into the snow.  Zena ran, shoving her feet in and out of the
depths until she thought her legs would give out beneath her.  She ran on
anyway.

Gunor's cave was
in front of her now.  She burst into it, calling. "Help!" she
said urgently.  "I need help!"

The big man came
close to her, intent on understanding.  She pointed outside and grabbed
his arm.  He nodded, and reached for some odd-looking contrivances made of
curved sticks and vines and furs.  He attached the objects to his feet and
shuffled after her, calling out instructions to the others as he went.

Conar appeared on
the hill, worried at Zena's long absence.

"Tragar,"
she screamed at him through the wind.  "The others!"

Tears pounded
behind her eyes at the thought of them buried in the snow, freezing.  She
wiped them savagely away.  She needed to see, not weep. 

Tragar was
standing when they reached him.  He pointed down into a hollow, near the
place where the big people had hunted.  Zena stared through the blinding
snow, trying to make out the forms.  Were they really there?

Gunor made a sound
of recognition and leaped down the slope.  He did not sink in, Zena saw
with astonishment, but stayed on top of the snow.  His tribe-mates
appeared with similar contraptions on their feet and lunged down behind
him.