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

  Torlan seemed to feel her sadness. He frowned and took her hand. "You are not happy," he said, his voice puzzled.

  Katalin tried to explain. "There is a small one," she said, making the figure of a child with her hands. "He was not killed. He has another child with him, his sister, even smaller. They are alone, near the cliffs, trying to escape. I must find them."

  Torlan wrinkled his brow, distressed. "Borg goes near the cliffs," he said hesitatingly. "That is why we came here."

  Katalin stared at him, and cold terror gripped her heart. Torlan had made the false trail along the cliffs where she had sent Lotar and Balinor. They would stop somewhere to sleep, thinking they were safe away from the caves. They would not hide, and the men with knives would scour the whole area, looking for her and for Torlan. They had flares and sharp eyes and they could not miss two helpless children.

  Katalin began to shiver and neither the fire Torlan built nor the warmth of his body could stop her shaking. The cold came from within, from her fear. She had thought to help Lotar and Balinor by sending them to Zena but she had not. Instead, she had sent them into a trap.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Zena felt herself lifted by strong arms. The smell of the arms was familiar and she drifted back into sleep. Then the tension within the person who carried her communicated itself, and she opened her eyes. Taggart, one of the men who had been assigned to guard her while they waited in the small caves, was holding her. He was very strong and carried her easily, though she was more than half grown. His stiff yellow hair, always unruly, was even more tangled than usual. She could see it clearly even though it was night, and that was strange. She could see the others who were guarding her, too. They were standing near the entrance to the small caves, and all of them had flares. Why were they all here instead of sleeping?

  "We must go from this place," Taggart told her. "The ground begins to shake."

  As if in response, a low, insistent rumble shuddered through the earth beneath them. A sharp crack that sounded like thunder followed.

  The women and men surged forward. Zena struggled to get loose. Deep in the pit of her belly, there was a feeling that bothered her, told her she must pay attention.

  "Wait!" she said. Taggart stopped, frowning.

  Another tremor came, then another. Zena listened, not to the noise, but to the churning in her belly. It was trying to tell her something. There was one type of feeling outside the caves, and another one inside... That was it. There was safety here, but not outside. The Goddess had told her mother she would be safe in the caves, and so it would be. She must stay here.

  "No," she told the others. "We must stay here. The Goddess will keep us safe."

  The wavering flares lit up one face, then another, as they considered her words. One or two of the people took a step backward, as if to stay, but the others pressed forward.

  "She is hardly more than a child," one of the men murmured. "And we have sworn to keep her safe. It is dangerous to stay within the caves when the ground shakes."

  A strong, protracted shudder crackled under their feet and sent them careening into each other. Panic wiped the uncertainty from their faces.

  "Come after me," Taggart shouted. He pulled Zena against his chest and staggered out into the open. The tremors were so intense he could hardly keep his balance.

  Zena struggled to get out of his arms. She must go back; she knew she must, but he would not let her loose. "No!" she cried again. "No; I must stay here." She pounded his chest with her fists. Taggart paid no attention except to hold her even closer.

  The others forged ahead, running toward the field below. The night sky was lit by an eerie greenish glow, and Zena could see their shadowy figures.

  Then, suddenly, they were not there. The ground had opened up, and she could not see any of them any more.

  Taggart staggered and fell. The impact loosened his hold, and Zena flew out of his arms. As soon as she landed she started to run. She had to get back to the cave, to her sleeping place; that was where she had to be. The statue of the Goddess was there, and her mother had told her that she must keep it with her always, that it would keep her safe. Behind her the earth split into gaping holes, but she did notice, only ran on, across the shaking fields, through the entrance to the caves and along the passage to the space beneath the earth where she always slept. She felt with her fingers for the Goddess. Good. She was still there. Zena held the statue against her chest and crouched low against the ground. Even though it was still heaving and rumbling, she felt safer when she pressed against it. The earth, after all, belonged to the Mother, and she trusted it even when it was fierce.

  Without warning, visions flooded her mind, but this time she did not see the men with knives, the crying children. Instead, she saw rocks, piles and piles of tumbled rocks, crashing to the ground with a thunderous roar, not here, but in a place she knew...

  The Mother's chamber - that was where they were falling. Zena's eyes opened wide in horror. The vast cavern was folding into itself, crashing down upon the circle of stones where they had worshipped the Mother and filling the deep black pool where She had been born with rubble. The tunnels that led to it had collapsed, and so had the cave where the paintings of bison and antelope leaped across the walls. The cliffs had fallen on top of them, on top of all the passages and caves. There was nothing to see now but tons and tons of rubble, and dust that rose in roiling clouds.

  Zena screwed up her eyes tight against the images, then they widened again as recognition came. The Goddess was angry. That was why She made the earth tremble and shake, the caves and tunnels collapse. She was angry at the men with knives for killing her mother and the others, for violating the place where She Herself had been born. And so She had destroyed it.

  An unexpected spurt of triumph surged through Zena's body. Never again would those savage men assault the Mother's sacred chamber with their violence; never again would they shine their lamps on the pictures that were so precious to Her, or deface them with their bloody hand prints. Another realization followed. The men who had attacked them would never violate anything again, for they had been swallowed into the earth. The clearing where her tribe had once made their fire was gone, had split in two while the men screamed, but now there were no more screams, only silence.

  Zena lay against the ground and listened to the silence. Now that the earthquake had finished, Taggart and the others would come back. She waited quietly. Images floated into her mind, peaceful ones this time, of the days before her tribe had been forced from their home. Then, she and her mother had spent many hours sitting together in the circle of stones, speaking of the Goddess, the Mother as they called Her among themselves, of the wise women who had come before them and would come after. To visualize her mother's face, listen once more to her voice, was infinitely comforting.

  "We must find a new home now," her mother had said. "Already, the others have begun the search, but only to one called Zena will the Goddess send the visions that will enable us to find it. From Her I know that this must be a very special home, one where all the Mother People can gather in peace. Only when we can come together in this way, She has said, can we keep the ways of the Mother alive in the years to come."

  "This much She has told me, but no more. For it is to you, my daughter, that the Goddess has given the challenge of finding this new home. As you know, the ones called Zena, like ourselves, are special to the Goddess. To us, She entrusts Her most arduous tasks, and this is the one She has given to you."

  "How will I be able to fulfill this task?" Zena had asked, apprehensive lest she fail the Goddess.

  "The Mother Herself will guide you," her mother had answered, and there was certainty in her tone. “When the time is right, She will show you the way. Always, Her missions can be accomplished if only we wait and listen for Her voice.”

  “That is why the Goddess wishes you to come with me to the Kyrie before we are forced to leave our home,” her mother had continued. “Only through the vis
ions can you absorb the wisdom and strength you will need to guide our people in the years to come.”

  Many times, after that, they had gone together to the Kyrie. Hour after hour, the visions had buffeted Zena, filled her with knowledge and love and compassion, and fear for all that would one day come to pass. The images began to push into her mind again, as powerful and compelling as before. She pushed them away, too weary now to watch them. Besides, the part that came after their last visit to the Kyrie, when her mother had left to return to the big caves, was the hardest. She did not want to think of that any more.

  She picked up the statue of the Goddess, to comfort herself, and stroked the smooth wood over and over again. Slowly, peace returned to her heart. After all, her mother was still with her, through her voice, through the memories. She had the Goddess to help her as well. Her eyes closed finally; when she opened them again, the sky was a pale, rosy pink. She could tell because there was a small hole over her head, where the light came through.

  She drank a little of the water, ate some of the food she always kept in her sleeping place, and waited patiently for the others. The sky became bright blue, but still no one came. Maybe she should look for them. Her mother had told her not to leave the caves until the people who guarded her told her it was safe, but some of them might have been hurt and would need her to help them. She waited a while longer, and then made up her mind. She must go to them if they were hurt.

  She crawled down the narrow passage that led to the entrance, but it was blocked by a big pile of rocks. They were much too big to move. She must dig her way out, she decided, through the hole above her sleeping place. Grabbing a pointed rock, she crawled back again and began to scratch at the earth above her head. Bits of dirt dribbled into her eyes, blinding her. She rubbed them clear and started again. The gap widened a little, but after that, she could not seem to make it bigger. Two large rocks framed the hole, and from beneath, she could not budge them.

  Zena sat down, considering. The statue of the Goddess, lying on the ground, caught her eye. That was not right, for Her to lie in the dirt. She remembered the ledge they had built for the big statue of the Goddess in the Mother's chamber. She would build one like that, only smaller. She should make a circle of stones, too. Always, they spoke to the Mother in a circle of stones.

  She collected all the loose stones in her small enclosure and placed the smooth, round ones in a circle; the others she piled in one corner of her sleeping place. A flat slab went on top, to hold the Goddess. She fell the first time Zena put Her there; patiently, Zena filled the cracks with dirt until the slab was firm and did not tilt.

  There; it was finished. The Goddess stood comfortably. She looked ready to listen and full of promise, with her big breasts and swollen belly. Zena planted herself firmly in the middle of the circle of stones and began to speak.

  "Great Goddess, tell me now what I should do. The stones have filled the passage, and I cannot get out. Nor can I dig any further, and I think..."

  Zena's voice faltered, but she forced herself to go on. "I think they are dead, the ones who guarded me, for if they were alive, they would have come for me. But they have not come and already the sun is disappearing again."

  "I think they are dead," she repeated, "and now there is no one but You, Great Goddess. My mother told me You would keep me from harm, and You have, but now there is no one else..."

  Suddenly she could not speak any more. The words seemed stuck inside her, like her tears. Her throat ached with the tears, the words. She swallowed hard, but it did not help. Swallowing only reminded her that she was terribly thirsty, and there was not much water left.

  Stubbornly she pulled her mind away from the vanishing water, from the small pile of food that remained. Instead, she thought of all that her mother had told her of the Mother's ways, the ways of love and compassion, of the wisdom of the circles.

  "The Mother's thoughts are like a circle that has no beginning and no end," her mother had explained. "Always the circle expands as everything that happens, all the knowing that comes from the Mother to our bodies and minds, gathers in the deep black pool of wisdom. It lies there, still and dark, waiting for us to seek its understanding. You will go there many times, my child, and still there will be more to know."

  Zena smiled, liking the image. She stared into the darkness of the pool, watched it swirl in its vast, endless circle. It seemed to her that she could see her mother's face there, and Conar’s, who was her father, the faces of all the others in the tribe who had loved her. One at a time, she greeted them. Their voices returned the greeting, and each of them reached out to touch her. Comforted by their presence, she slept.

  When she woke, the sky was rosy again. Zena dug some more at the hole above her head. It widened a little, but it was still not big enough for her body. Dust coated her throat, from the digging. She took a small drink of water. Soon it would be gone.

  The day passed, and the night. Zena dreamed, endless dreams that seemed to go around and around in circles, without taking her anywhere. The Goddess was in the dreams, though She had no form. She was only a presence, but Zena thought She was pointing, as if there were something Zena should see. But she couldn't see. Mists obscured everything ahead of her. She ran and ran, but the mist was all around her, and then she stumbled and fell. After that, she could not walk any more. She could only lie against the hard ground and wait. Her body ached, and her throat hurt...

  She woke abruptly to see that the sun had risen again. Her throat was so dry she could not swallow at all. Reaching up through the hole, she felt around with her fingers. There might be bushes up there, bushes with berries. They would provide moisture as well as food. Zena stretched her whole arm up as far as it would go in all directions, but her grasping fingers felt only hard, dry rock, still cold from the night. Reluctantly, she ate the last of the food, drank the last tiny sip of water.

  She decided to sleep some more. Perhaps she would dream again, and this time she might be able to see what the Goddess wanted to show her. It had something to do with the new home she was supposed to find, she thought. But sleep would not come, so she listened to the small noises above her head. A hawk screeched, and then she heard a thrush, very low and soft. She tried to make the same sound, pursing her lips carefully as Katalin had taught her in the lessons, but she was not very successful. Her mouth was too dry. Besides, she had never been able to whistle properly, as Lotar could. He came from another tribe that lived nearby, and they had often played together.

  The thrush called again, closer now. Zena tried again to imitate it, but thinking of Katalin and Lotar had made her lips tremble, and only a thin hiss emerged. She gave up the effort and closed her eyes determinedly. It was best to sleep, so she would not be able to think of her thirst, of the people who had died.

  Suddenly, the thrush called again, right over her head. Zena sat abruptly, startled by its closeness. Then she heard another sound, a voice that made the hairs on her arms tingle and stand up. Was she dreaming or was it real? But it could not be. Unbelieving, she crouched in one corner of her cave and waited.

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  The old woman folded against the floor of the tunnel. Her strength was gone, utterly gone. Blood oozed from her arm. If she could just staunch the flow, perhaps she could get up again and see if any others were still alive. She did not think so. The men with knives had killed mercilessly. Why she was still alive she did not know. Had the men neglected to deal her a final blow?

  Unconsciousness claimed her, then let her go, claimed her again. Later, though, she came back to herself and was surprised to realize that she felt stronger. Perhaps the blood had stopped flowing by itself. She managed to pull herself to her feet and struggle along the tunnels, using the walls for support. A faint glow greeted her when she finally reached the entrance to the caves. At first she thought the dawn had come, but it was moonlight. She staggered down the slope. She must keep going, away from here, where the men could not find her.
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  But where should she go, an old woman all alone? It would have been easier just to die, as all the others had, she thought mournfully, than to struggle on. The thought of returning to the Mother was infinitely comforting.

  She frowned, aware that there might be a reason why she was still alive, though she could not think what it was. Someone needed her, perhaps. Well, she would help if she could. She rose and tried to decide which way to go. Suddenly it came to her. Of course! She must go to the young Zena, to the place where she had been hidden, in the small caves to the west. The child's mother was dead; Marita was sure she must be, for she had seen her in the Mother's chamber just before the men had attacked, and the young Zena would need someone to comfort her. To lose her mother at this time in her life, just between being a girl and a woman, was hard. She had lost her father, too, and most of the other people she had loved. Just as important, the young Zena would need someone to tell her the stories. Despite her youth, she would have to take her mother's place as wise one for the tribe, and she could not do that unless she knew all that had happened to the Mother People in the past. No one, Marita thought with satisfaction, could tell the stories as well as herself.

  Buoyed by her decision, Marita managed to walk without stopping for a few minutes. Then dizziness overcame her, and she sat down. When it passed she struggled up again, pulling herself to her knees, then holding tight to a tree to get up the rest of the way. She stayed near the woods so she could hold on to the trees when she needed to, and kept the cliffs on her left to make sure she was going in the right direction.