CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (58 page)

Zena followed as
quickly as she could.  Tragar lurched unsteadily after her.  Conar
did not bother to run but curled himself in a ball and rolled, as he had when
he was a child.  The technique worked, for he arrived before them.

"Conar!" 
Zena heard the voice, unsteady with joy.  It was Lilan; she could tell
even from here.  

Another voice
came, gruff and low.  Katli!  It was Katli speaking.  "Take
the children first, " she told Conar.  "Then Menta.  She is
the coldest of all, for she went in the river after a child."

And then she heard
Lune.  "Where is Zena?  Have you found Zena?  Is she with
you?"

Zena plunged down
the slope and wrapped her arms around her mother.  Now she could not stop
the tears.  They poured down her cheeks, warm and comforting beneath the
icy snow.

"Zena,"
Lune whispered.  "Zena."

"Hurry,"
she said, releasing her hold.  "We must get the others warm. 
They are cold, too cold. Only a few can still walk."

Zena grabbed one
of the little ones.  "Those who can walk, come after me," she
shouted.  "We will carry the others."

Already, she
noticed, Gunor and the other male had a child under each arm and were
struggling up the slope toward her cave.  By the time she was halfway up,
they had returned for more.  Finally, they were all inside.  As soon
as they had brought in the last of the children, the Big People
disappeared.  She had not even thanked them, Zena realized. 

She looked around
her.  The cave was suddenly, wonderfully, full of people, her
people.  With so many of them inside, it no longer looked so big! 
But why were they here? 

Zena thrust the
question from her mind.  All of them were cold and wet and exhausted, and
she must help them first.  She began to crush herbs for a tonic as fast as
her hands could move.  Already, Conar had built up the fire with deft
hands, so she could warm the potent brew.  She gave some to each child, then
turned to examine Menta.  The wise woman's eyes were closed, her breathing
shallow.  Zena looked questioningly at Lune. 

"It was the
river,"  Lune told her, her eyes tragic with remembrance. 
"It flooded its banks one night, when we were sleeping.  The water
rose very fast.  It took one of Katli's sisters and her child before we
even knew what was happening.  Only Menta saw, and she went after
them.  But it was too late.  We pulled Menta out, but already she was
almost dead.  Then the cold came, and we could not get her warm again."

Her voice faded
and Krost took up the tale.  "We could not cross the river, to come
here as we wanted.  It was too high.  Instead, we had to follow it
far to the north before we found a place to cross so we could come back again. 
When we reached these cliffs, we smelled your fire.  But then the snow
came, and for a long time, we could not find you.  Only Tragar had the
strength to keep searching."

"We have been
traveling now for many moons,"  Bakan added. "More than two, I
think.  We did not mean to be so long."  His words were sad but
his furrowed face was wreathed in smiles that they were here, safely in a cave
with Zena.

"But how did
you know to come here, to the mountains?"  Zena had not thought of
this before, and there was such astonishment in her voice that the some of the
children began to laugh.  The sound was wonderful to her ears. 

Conar grinned and
hugged his sister.  "Lilan was the one who knew where to look,"
he reported proudly.  "She heard you speak of your dream."

Lilan had not
taken her eyes from Conar's face since she had entered the cave, but now she
turned to Zena and spoke with great seriousness.

"I am sorry,
Zena, to have listened.  I meant no wrong."

"You have
brought the others to us, Lilan,"  Zena replied fervently. "For
that, I am grateful.  All of us are grateful to you - the Mother
too."

Menta gasped
suddenly, and Zena's heart thudded with fear that she might be worse. 
Then she saw that the wise woman's eyes were open and she was staring up in
wonder.

The bison. 
She was lying on her back, and the first thing she had seen were the bison on
the ceiling.

The others
followed her eyes, and they, too, gasped in astonishment.  In the
flickering firelight, the bison seemed to move across the cave walls in slow,
measured leaps.

"Conar has
made them,"  Zena explained, "to thank the bison.  They
saved my life, for I had lost my tools and furs in the river, and the bison
kept me warm.  After that, the big male saved me.  He carried me to
Conar, here in this cave."

A babble of
excited questions broke out.  Zena let Conar answer and concentrated on
Menta.  She rubbed her hands and feet as Conar had rubbed hers, and was
gratified to see a spasm of pain cross Menta's face as sensation began to
return.  Her breathing seemed a little better too. 

"The bison
were in my dream," Menta said faintly, "but I did not know why. 
Surely," she added, and now her voice had more strength, "the
Mother's ways can be strange - but always they are good.  She has saved
Zena, brought us to her."

"Tron has not
come here?"  Katli's gruff voice broke the momentary silence.

"Tron?"
Zena frowned, not understanding.  "Tron is dead."

"No,
Zena.  Tron is not dead."  Lune  came closer to look into
Zena's eyes.  "That is one reason we came.  You did not kill
Tron.  He lives, though he is wounded.  Nevilar saw him and then he
disappeared.  We feared he would try to find you.  And it is
important that you know you have not killed."

Relief flooded
Zena.  She felt it swell inside her, fill a place that had ached with
remorse ever since Tron had dropped to the ground.  She had not killed -
after all, she had not killed.

The relief
evaporated as quickly as it had come.  In its place came a terrible
feeling of responsibility.  If Tron was still alive, he could still do
harm.  She had failed to teach him as the Mother had asked, and he had not
changed.  She was certain of it.  There was a violence in Tron that
could not be stopped.  And that meant Menta's vision could still come
true.

The pictures came
back to her, as fresh and cruel as when Menta had related them, and she
shuddered.  Somehow, she must find another way to stop the violence.

The others were
quiet, seeing the conflict on her face.  There was little they could do to
help.  Then Lilan came up to Zena and patted her hand.

"I am glad,
Zena, that Tron is not dead, because we could come to be with  you and
Conar again."

"All of us
are glad to be with you again,"  Nevilar said shyly.  Nevilar's
mother put a comforting hand on her arm as she spoke, Zena noticed. 
Perhaps her daughter's troubles had made her kinder.

"I am very
glad, more glad than anyone could know, to see all of you," Zena replied
softly, smiling at Nevilar.  "And Lilan is right.  It is good at
least that all of us are together again.  That is most important."

As always, she
realized, she would have to digest the news about Tron slowly.  In time,
with the Mother's help, she would understand what she must do.

As soon as the
storm was over, Bakan and Katli and the other hunters went to find Gunor, to
show him their spears.  They were eager to help the man who had saved
Zena's life.  She had told them how the Big People hunted, how Pulot had
been wounded, and they wanted to prevent further injuries to the people in his
tribe.

Gunor watched
intently as they showed him how to throw the spear from the special launchers
they made.  He practiced for many days and could soon throw the spear
farther than any of the others, for he was very broad and strong.  In
return, he showed them how to make the devices that kept him from sinking in
the snow.  Soon, everyone was using them.  The two tribes began to
hunt together, and as the weeks passed, their combined efforts became ever more
successful.  There were new furs for all from the many reindeer they took,
and a good supply of meat was placed in a deep hole in the snow, where it would
freeze.  They celebrated together as well, to thank the Mother for Her
generosity.

Best of all, Zena
thought, the children no longer had to participate in the hunt.  At first,
the two boys had seemed to miss the excitement.  Then they began to play
with the other children, making balls of snow and throwing them at each other,
sliding down the hills on old pieces of hide, and the restless look on their
faces had disappeared.

Zena smiled
contentedly.  Now, her only worry was Menta.  Her feet had been badly
frozen, and Zena wondered if she would ever recover fully or walk properly
again.  But if the terrible cold had damaged Menta's body, it had not
damaged her spirit.  She was indomitable still, eager to know all that had
happened to Zena and Conar.  Especially, she wanted to hear about the
tunnels and caves beneath the earth.  Zena tried to describe the
magnificent cavern with needles, the darkness of the tunnels and the need for
better light.  She spoke, too, of her frustration that she still had not
found the open place where the Mother waited.

"I, too, feel
that the Mother waits for us in the caves," Menta told her. 
"When the time is right, She will show us the way.  Until then, you
must be patient." 

Gunor appeared at
the entrance to the cave, looking for Bakan and the other hunters.  Zena
jumped up to greet him.  

"Bring Gunor
to me,"  Menta asked Zena.  "I would like to thank him
again for all he and his tribe have done for you, for all of us, now that he
can understand my words."

The two tribes had
spent many hours in the past months learning each other's words so they could
speak together.  Now, they understood each other well, although Gunor and
the others in his tribe still had trouble pronouncing some of their words.

Menta watched
Gunor carefully as he came close.  As Zena had said, there was great
kindness in his face, but there was something else as well, a sadness, almost
as if he was watching someone or something die.

"Your tribe
has made it possible for us to hunt with less danger,"  Gunor replied
when Menta had expressed her gratitude.  "And Zena has saved the
child.  There is magic in her.  Perhaps she can save my mate
too."

"What is
wrong with her?"  Lune had overheard and was, as always, eager to
understand anything that went wrong in a person.

Gunor tried to
explain.  "The infants cannot be born," he said
sorrowfully.  "They do not emerge, and the women die.  Almost
all have died."

Lune
frowned.  "How many moons until the infant comes?"

"It comes
soon,"  Gunor answered.  "Many moons have passed already,
more than one full cycle of the seasons, I think."

Lune and Zena
exchanged glances.  That was a very long time for an infant to remain in
the womb.

"I will try
to help," Zena promised him.  "Lune too.  She knows far
more of healing, especially of birth, than I do."

Gunor looked
relieved and went off to join the others.  But in the end, they could not
help very much, except to relieve the young woman's pain when she struggled to
give birth a few days later.  By the time the infant finally emerged, her
body had been battered beyond endurance.  Blood flowed freely from a place
deep inside her, and nothing would stop it.  Before the baby had taken its
first breath, she was dead. 

At least the child
will live, Zena thought.  He seemed strong and healthy, and he was very
big.  Perhaps Bly could feed him.  She had a baby almost ready to
wean. 

The arduous birth
had not damaged his skull, as sometimes happened, she saw, examining the baby's
head carefully.  It was big and very hard, and the soft places that made
birth easier were almost closed.  If all the infants of the Big People had
heads like that, it was not surprising they could not be born.

"There is a
story of a time long ago," Lune told her, "far beyond the time of our
memory, when many women died in childbirth.  The infants lingered too long
in the womb, and their skulls were big and thick, like this one.  I did
not believe the story, but perhaps it was true, and Gunor's people are still
like this."

"That might
be the reason why so many of their women have died," Zena agreed
sadly.  "Gunor said more than one full cycle of the seasons had
passed.  It must be very hard for him."

"We could not
help," she told him miserably when he came to see what had happened,
"except to ease her pain.  I am sorry.  But the baby lives at
least."

He nodded and
turned away hopelessly.  No one could help with this, not even one like
Zena, with magic in her hands.  Something was wrong with the people of his
tribe, that their babies could not be born, and no one could fix it. 
Soon, there would be no more of them, for how could a tribe live when all the
women were dead?  Without women, there could be no new life.

Strangely, it was
Nevilar who comforted him.  She had changed, Zena realized.  Her time
in the Ekali with the other women seemed to have softened her, but it had also
given her a new kind of strength, as if for the first time she felt secure
enough to give to others without taking from herself.  Perhaps, too, she
felt better about herself because her mother had become less critical.

Nevilar did not
speak to Gunor, but instead placed her hand gently on his arm and sat with him
for a long time.  The big, sad man appealed to her, and she did not want
to leave him alone in his misery.  She helped him gather branches filled
with withered berries, for there were no flowers, to place over the dead
woman's body.  It was their custom, he said, to bury their dead ones
nearby, covered with blossoms.  Now a hole in the snow and branches would
have to do.

In the weeks that
followed, Zena saw Nevilar walking with Gunor many times.  When Nevilar
confided that she had mated with him, Zena was not surprised.  It seemed a
good solution.  There was only one other woman in Gunor's tribe, and she
was hardly old enough to think of mating.