CIRCLES IN THE SKY (The Mother People Series Book 2) Read online

  Balinor began to cry. The noises she made were no louder than the rustling of leaves in the trees, but Lotar knew from experience that they could easily escalate into a wail. He forced himself to respond. Hugging her gently, he whispered into her ear.

  "We will find Katalin later," he told her. "Now we must walk for a little while."

  She looked up at him trustingly and rubbed the tears away from her eyes. Lotar stared at her in surprise. Her small face, already streaked with dirt, became brown all over as she scrubbed at it with her grubby fists. He could barely see her.

  That was good. The sudden realization gave him courage, and a purpose. "Come," he whispered. "We find water, in the stream."

  He helped her up and led her away from the clearing. Though his feet were familiar with the area and the distance to the stream was not great, it was unexpectedly hard to make his way in total darkness. He had not tried that before. Twice, he stumbled and fell, and Balinor fell constantly. He hauled her into his arms, but she was too heavy for him and he had to put her down again. Then, blessedly, the moon rose, so they could see a little.

  He heard the stream ahead, gurgling through its rocky course. He helped Balinor to drink, then drank himself. Never had cool water tasted so good. When he had filled their skin bags, he scraped up mud from the banks and plastered it on their faces, their arms and legs, everywhere their bodies showed beneath the fur garments that hung from their shoulders.

  "Now the men cannot see us," he told Balinor.

  Liking this game, she rubbed still more mud on her arms and legs, then looked up expectantly. "I am hungry," she told him.

  "We have no food," he replied. "When the light comes, I will find berries."

  She shook her head. "I have food," she said, pointing downstream.

  Lotar frowned. What did she mean? She tugged at his hand; he followed her to a bend in the stream. Clambering onto a big, flat rock, she shoved her hand into a crack and withdrew a bundle of food - berries and nuts, even some strips of dried meat. Lotar stared in astonishment. She must have played here with her friends, he realized, must have hidden food, pretending the big rock was their home and they had little ones to feed.

  Gratefully, he ate some of the food and gave some to Balinor; then he wrapped up the rest in a big leaf to take with them. “That was clever, to hide food,” he told Balinor.

  Her innocent game might save their lives, he thought gratefully. Already he felt his strength returning. He could think clearly again, too, so he knew which way to go. He had to lead them away from the valley and the mountains, keeping the cliffs always on his left, the deep woods on his right. If he did that for three whole days and nights, he would find Zena. Then, they would be safe.

  He took Balinor’s hand and led her away from the stream. For almost an hour they walked west beside the ridge. The cliffs loomed like hulking monsters in the moonlight, and Lotar had to reach out sometimes to touch them, to reassure himself that they were not alive. But the woods on his right were even more frightening. The tall trees rustled and groaned in the wind, and their branches seemed to want to grab him. He shrank away from them, even from the faint, wavering shadows they cast.

  Balinor fell, and when he tried to pick her up again, she did not move. He shook her, but she only sighed heavily and curled herself against the ground.

  She could go no further. Lotar stared into the cliffs, into the woods, looking for a safe place to sleep, but filmy clouds had obscured the moon's brightness and everything looked black and forbidding. Shuddering, he pulled Balinor into a crevice between two big rocks and lay down beside her. He curled his body around hers and enclosed her in his arms. Within moments, he too was fast asleep. He did not hear the halting, painful footsteps that passed by him at the edge of the woods, nor did he smell the scent of blood that wafted past him on the gusty breeze. He slept on, oblivious, his senses numbed by exhaustion, by horrors too overwhelming to absorb.

  ***************

  Katalin hauled herself, one tiny movement at a time, away from the man's body. She did not want to touch him or even smell him again. Twice already, he had forced himself upon her. Rage boiled inside her. Akat, the act of mating, was a gift from the Mother, one that should never be abused. Always, it was up to a woman to decide when and with whom she would mate, but the men with knives thought they owned women as they owned their tools or furs. A woman was supposed to have Akat with the man who claimed her whenever he wished it, and if she did not obey he beat her, the other women had told her. Never before had she heard of such brutality! The men were even violent with each other. She had been with them for only one day and already there had been many fights, over the women they had captured, over food, even over who should sit next to their leader. Vetron, they called him. She was glad he had not claimed her. It was bad enough to be claimed at all, but to be claimed by that one would have been horrible. He was big and rough, with hair the color of flames, and he smelled. They all smelled, but he was the worst.

  Bitterness filled her. She pushed it away. Most important now was to concentrate on escaping so she could help Lotar and Balinor. Perhaps she could do it now. The man beside her seemed to be sound asleep. Cautiously, she rose to a crouch, then lifted herself slowly into a standing position. She had taken only two steps when a hand grabbed her ankle. She fell against the hard ground, knocking the breath out of her lungs.

  "Leave me alone!" she screamed when she could breathe again. The man only grunted. For the rest of the night, he kept his arm across her chest, and each time she moved, his fingers tightened around her arm. Katalin closed her eyes hard, to squeeze back the tears, and lay still and silent, trying to think how she could get away. This man never let her out of his sight and even in sleep he seemed to sense her every move.

  Her lips compressed. There was only one way. She must pretend, must hide the rage that boiled just under the surface. If he thought she did not mind his attentions he would cease to watch her so carefully. She gritted her teeth, wishing she could grab a spear and push it through the bodies of these savage men as they had pushed their spears through the defenseless bodies of her tribe mates. To kill was not the Mother's way, especially to kill in anger, but she still wanted to do it. Some men did not deserve to live, like the ones whose big, snoring bodies lay all around her.

  She closed her eyes again and tried to sleep. Without sleep, she could not keep up her strength, and without strength she could not escape. Forcing her mind from thoughts of the men, the raid, she listened to the wind in the trees, and after a while, it lulled her into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  A hand touched her cheek, and she jumped violently. But it was only Ruslim, a woman from a nearby tribe who had been abducted. Katalin had never liked Ruslim very much, for she was one who talked behind the backs of others, but now she felt sorry for her. Her face was a mass of bruises, and her pale hair was matted with blood.

  They looked at each other but did not speak. The leader, Vetron, hit them if they tried to talk to each other. Ruslim pointed instead, towards Arnal, another of the women who had been taken, except she was hardly more than a child. She lay still as death near the edge of the clearing. Katalin leaped up and went to her. A livid wound ran from her elbow almost to her shoulder. It was festering, Katalin saw. She must be treated.

  She went to the man who had claimed her. "I must find herbs," she said firmly, pointing to Arnal.

  He shrugged and turned away, not understanding. Katalin persisted, shaking his arm and pulling him over to Arnal. "She will die. I must get herbs."

  Another man followed them, a young one, hardly more than a boy. Katalin had noticed him before because he seemed less violent than the others. A pained look had come over his face when the leader and another man had hit the women for speaking together. Though he had hidden the reaction quickly, Katalin had seen and wondered. The young man said something now to the man who had claimed her, who was called Borg. Borg nodded reluctantly while uttering words that sounded like instructions
.

  Katalin took a few steps out of the clearing to see what would happen. The young man followed her. So he was to be her guard. She ignored him and headed for the place beyond the pond where the herbs grew. She was not a healer, like Zena, but like all in the tribe, she knew how to use herbs. She would do her best, although she did not think she could be successful. Arnal looked near death. Probably one of the men had forced Akat on her despite her wound. Katalin's hatred intensified.

  She clambered over the rocky hillside that lay between the cave and the cliffs. High above this place was Zena's Kyrie, the ledge where she spoke to the Goddess. No one could climb to it, for the cliffs under the ledge dropped straight into the rocks below. No one could climb down to it from the mountains, either, except the goats which could cling to the almost vertical slope. The only way to get there was to go through the deep black pool in the Mother’s chamber, then up the steep rocks to the opening where the light came through. Only Zena had ever entered the sacred pool, climbed to the Kyrie, for that was the will of the Goddess. For others to go was a violation.

  The man behind her gasped suddenly. Katalin looked at him and saw that his face was a mask of pain. He was staring towards the rocks below the cliff. She followed his eyes, and then she saw. It was Zena, on the rocks.

  For an agonizing moment, Katalin thought she was alive. A rosy wash of color from the rising sun rested on her pale face, giving it the pretense of life, and her hair was fanned out beneath her as if she were merely sleeping. The dark strands gleamed in the light, gathering shades of red and umber as Katalin's tears made her vision shimmer.

  But she was not alive. Katalin's heart seemed to drop toward her feet. She must have leaped from the cliff. Zena must have leaped...

  Tears poured down Katalin's face. She could not stop them; for a long time, she could not even move. The young man stood still and silent beside her. And when Katalin finally turned to look at him again, she saw that there were tears on his face, too. She stared, surprised.

  "I saw," he whispered. "I saw..." Katalin grabbed his arm. He had used her words, not those of the men with knives.

  "I am not them," he began, struggling to find the right words. "I was taken, a long time ago. I did not go into the caverns with the others. I was here, and I saw her."

  "Tell me," Katalin ordered. "Tell me what you saw."

  The young man closed his eyes in anguish. "There, she stood there," he said brokenly, pointing to the ledge. "The men came behind her, and then she spoke, words so strong the men leaped back in fear. But then - "

  He broke off, too filled with emotion to say more, but Katalin had heard enough to understand. The men had gone to the Kyrie. That was why Zena had leaped, so they could not take her. These brutal men had entered the sacred pool, had defiled the Mother's birthplace, stood upon the sacred ledge, the Kyrie. It was monstrous, horrible!

  Rage filled her, made her double over. But even the rage could not obscure the sadness, the terrible sadness, that Zena was truly gone.

  The young man spoke again. "I am not them," he repeated. "I know of the Mother. Long ago, the people of my tribe knew the Mother."

  His words jolted Katalin out of her misery. "You were taken, like me?" She pointed to herself, then back towards the men.

  Nodding, he held out his hands to her, palms upraised, as if pleading with her to understand. Katalin took the hands and held them in her own. She did not know what to say. There was too much to speak of, for one who had been away from his tribe, away from the Mother, for so long. She looked deep into his eyes instead, seeking assurance that he was speaking the truth. If he had truly been taken, he might want to escape, might help her. But she must be careful. It could be a trick. Usually, the men with knives killed boy children when they took their mothers, or left them behind. Why was this one here?

  Still, he knew her words, and he was different from the other men. Most of them were very tall and broad, with narrow faces and cruel, pale eyes. This one was slender and long-limbed, as she was. His coloring was like her own, too, Katalin realized. He was dark, with brown hair and eyes of a deep hazel color, flecked with gold. They did not drop before her gaze but held her own eyes steadily. She saw compassion in them, and sorrow, then a glimmer of hope.

  "My mother told me of these things before she died," he said eagerly, the words coming more easily now. "She spoke in the words of her tribe when we were alone and the others could not hear. She told me of the wise ones, of the visions, and the tribes who worship the Mother."

  He gestured towards Zena. "She was a wise one. I feel this, feel it in my belly. But I know no more, I cannot remember."

  "I will teach you," Katalin said. "Later, I will teach you, but now we must find the herbs, go back. The men will come to look for us soon.” Anguish gripped her at the thought. The men must not come this way, must not see Zena, touch her. They must never know she was there. More violation she could not endure.

  She must make sure her companion did not speak. She pointed at Zena and then placed her hand firmly across the young man's lips. "Do not speak," she warned. "Do not tell the men!"

  The young man nodded vigorously. "I will not speak," he confirmed. He put a finger across his lips so she would know he had understood.

  Katalin gathered the herbs and went slowly back to the clearing. The young man's demeanor changed, she noticed, as they approached it. His sadness dropped away, and he assumed a deferential posture. No expression showed on his dark face.

  Arnal had not moved. Katalin mixed the herbs with water and made a poultice for her arm. She tried to get her to drink a potion to lessen the pain, but Arnal barely swallowed. Later, though, Katalin thought she seemed a little better. Her forehead was cooler, the wound less inflamed.

  Most of the day had gone, she realized, and she had hardly thought of her escape. But how could she leave with Arnal so ill? Ruslim was not good with herbs. Probably she had never paid much attention to the lessons, spent her time gossiping instead.

  Katalin sighed, trying to decide what to do. Arnal needed her, but Lotar needed her, too. He was good at finding his way for one so young, but he had to go a long distance, and there were many hills to climb. He was too small to carry Balinor.

  The rest of the day passed, and the night and part of the next day. Katalin's frustration grew. Sometimes Arnal seemed better, at other times worse. And then she died, just before the sun sank below the horizon. Katalin placed her cheek next to the bloodless lips, to be certain there was no breath, then she straightened wearily. Probably it was best this way. For Arnal to return to the Mother seemed less painful than for her to spend the rest of her life with this savage tribe.

  The young man, whose name was Torlan, dropped down beside her. "Do not speak," he whispered as he pretended to examine Arnal. "We look for more herbs."

  Katalin was puzzled. What did he mean? He stared hard into her eyes as if willing her to understand. And suddenly she did. She must pretend Arnal was still alive, needed more herbs. They would go together to look for them, and then... She did not know what would happen then. Still, she would do as he asked.

  She went to Borg. "We need more herbs," she said loudly, making gestures with her hands that indicated gathering plants.

  Torlan came up behind her and spoke. Borg frowned in irritation and turned to consult with the leader of the band. Torlan spoke again in reassuring tones, and Vetron nodded abruptly. Probably, Katalin realized, he wanted Arnal to live, to be a mate for one of his men, so he was willing to let them try to heal her.

  She and Torlan walked rapidly towards the marshes. As soon as they were out of sight, Torlan grabbed her hand.

  "Come," he said, and began to run fast towards the woods. Katalin ran with him. He led her to a hole beneath a fallen tree, where he grabbed two bundles. Handing her one of them, he ran on. He was taking them deep into the woods, Katalin realized, rather than keeping to the cliffs. She wanted to go along the cliffs, to look for Lotar. She grabbed his arm, tried to make hi
m turn, but he shook his head firmly.

  "I have found a place to hide," he told her. "The men will go the other way and they will not find us."

  She heard them then, calling furiously. They must have seen that Arnal was dead.

  She ran. There was no choice. And when Torlan finally stopped, she was glad she had trusted him. They were near the top of a small hill that overlooked most of the area. A large boulder jutted out from the slope. Torlan crawled out on it, keeping his body close against the rock. He signaled her to follow. She peered over his shoulder and saw the men with knives starting out to look for them. There was no hesitation in their movements; instead, they walked as if they were certain they were going the right way. Puzzled, she looked at Torlan. His eyes were amused.

  "I made a trail," he said.

  Katalin stared. He had made a false trail. She glanced at the bundle still clutched in her hand. He had gathered supplies, too. So he had planned to escape.

  "Thank you," she breathed. He smiled, a brief but vibrant grin, and then he turned to look again at the men.

  "Come," he repeated. She followed as he made his way through the woods at a light run. His feet made almost no noise on the carpet of leaves, and she took care to be as silent as he was. Once, they stopped briefly to drink in a stream, but Torlan rose and began to run again as soon as they were finished. Katalin was glad when the light faded completely and they had to slow down. She had spent much time in the woods and was good at running but Torlan was even better. She was impressed. Few of the young men she knew could run faster or longer than herself.

  They came finally to a jumbled pile of rocks. Torlan strode unhesitatingly to a deep crack between two of them and wriggled inside. Abruptly, he disappeared from view. Apprehensive suddenly, Katalin waited.

  "Come!" His voice was muffled. Squeezing herself between the rocks, Katalin crawled into the blackness. There was space here; she was certain of it even though she could not see. Torlan struck a light with his flint and held it to a small stone lamp filled with animal fat, like the kind they used in the caves, and then she could see. They were in a high, rounded cavern formed by the pile of boulders above them, she realized, and for the first time in many days she felt safe. She wished desperately that Lotar was here, and Balinor, so they too could feel safe. But how was she to find them now? She had no idea where she was. She had tried to keep track as she followed Torlan but she had never before gone so deep into the woods.