CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) Read online

  CIRCLES

  OF

  STONE

  JOAN DAHR

  LAMBERT

  Copyright © Joan Dahr Lambert

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Originally published in hardcover and paperback by Pocket Books, Simon & Schuster

  Praise for Joan Dahr Lambert and CIRCLES OF STONE

  “CIRCLES OF STONE is an epic story of the indomitable human spirit through the ages. A gripping prehistoric saga of life and death, joy and suffering, and enduring hope sustained by faith in the Great Goddess, it brings to life what once was and can again be. It is a book that will be treasured for generations to come as a new classic celebrating life and love.”

  Riane Eisler, author of The Chalice and the Blade and Sacred Pleasure.

  “Joan Dahr Lambert’s strikingly detailed writing fully immerses the reader in this foreign world… Original…CIRCLES OF STONE will amaze you…”

  Literary Guild

  “Joan Dahr Lambert gives the genre a new lift.”

  James H. Bready, Baltimore Sun

  “Lambert combines her research and theories into a compelling story… She seems to capture, through raw detail, the sights, scents and sounds of a million years ago. CIRCLES OF STONE is a memorable novel that leaves the reader, man or woman, thinking about nothing less than the human existence.”

  Renee Aragon, Great Divide (Clear Creek County, CO)

  “A blinding journey of intense spirituality and story-telling so unobtrusive it begs the reader to pay attention… CIRCLES OF STONE displays an obvious depth of knowledge about the evolution of human minds and bodies, and its imaginative and embracing characters explore the evolution of the human soul - making this book a spiritual experience in itself.”

  Rachel Perry, Flint (MI) Journal

  CIRCLES

  OF

  STONE

  This book is dedicated to my father,

  whose love of intellectual pursuits

  and regard for the natural world are gifts I cherish,

  and to my husband for his unfailing

  support as the book evolved.

  PROLOGUE

  Zena took her daughter's hand to help her up the steep path. She was hardly aware of making an effort, so familiar was the way. Hundreds of times, she had come to the sacred ledge where she spoke to the Goddess, the Mother of all that lived. But for the young Zena, the way was new and strange.

  They came to the opening high on the cliffs. Zena led her daughter out upon the ledge and stood, arms upraised, to greet the Goddess. The young Zena watched, still and silent.

  "Great Goddess, I bring you my daughter, who is destined to serve You, for she, too, bears the name of Zena. Help her as she learns Your ways; walk within her as she journeys through her life. Send her Your knowledge, Your wisdom; guide her heart and mind as she leads our people in the years to come. Blessed Mother, we reach now for Your strength."

  Zena waited until she felt the Goddess within her, deep and secure, before she turned to speak to her daughter. The young Zena listened carefully, for she knew she must never forget what she learned this day in the sacred place.

  "For many years, more than any can remember," Zena told her, "we have lived in harmony with each other and with the life around us. That is because have we followed the ways of the Mother, the ways of peace and caring. In each tribe, there was a wise woman who taught the Mother's ways to her daughter, or her sister's daughter; she, too, passed on her knowledge. And so it has been, until now, for all the years of our existence.

  "Some of these wise ones were called Zena, like ourselves. To us, the Mother entrusts Her most arduous tasks. The first one lived long ago, before the time of our people's memory, but her love for her people, her suffering when they were hungry or in pain, was no different than our own. The next Zena could see far more with her mind than any other, and she changed our world in many ways. Because of her, all people came to know the Mother, so that all could live in peace.

  The one who came after her was myself, and already you know something of my story. But now you must know all; you must journey into my heart and mind, into the hearts and minds of the others who bore the name of Zena, for we are one even as we are separate. Here, as we wait on the cliff, the Goddess will bring you our lives, in Her visions. You will feel our joy and suffering, know our thoughts, our fear and wonder, see and hear all that we have seen and heard, until you have become us. Only in this way can you fulfill the destiny entrusted to you by the Goddess: to keep the Mother's ways alive in the time of trial to come.

  "Come with me now, child; come with me to greet the Goddess, for She calls us. Pull Her wisdom into your mind, Her strength into your body, Her love into your heart. Feel Her deep within you as She takes you back to the beginning, to the one who was first called Zena. She will teach you, as each of us will teach you. Fill yourself with our lives, our knowledge and visions, all that we have experienced, until we have become a part of you, a part of all the Zenas yet to come, so that the ways of the Mother will never be forgotten."

  PART ONE

  FROM THE RIFT VALLEY

  TO THE OLDUVAI GORGE

  EAST AFRICA

  One Million Years Ago

  CHAPTER ONE

  The scream exploded across the empty savannah. Zena flinched and huddled closer to the base of the ancient acacia, trying to make herself invisible against its gray bark. Her hands betrayed her; they rubbed ceaselessly across the swollen curve of her empty belly in a futile gesture of comfort. She had not eaten for many days.

  The shrill cry of alarm had come from her mother, Tope, above her in the tree. She screamed again, and this time the piercing sound broke through Zena's lethargy. Grabbing a low limb, she scrambled into the gnarled tree. Only when she had reached the safety of Tope's side did she look down. The hyena stared hungrily up at her. Its massive jaws were still wide open in readiness, and drool spilled from its grinning lips. She shuddered and moved closer to her mother.

  The hyena stretched its forelegs up the tree and lunged toward them. Tope shook her stick at it, screaming all the while. When it leaped again, she struck it hard in the nose. The animal retreated, whining, and loped slowly away. Tope watched intently until it had disappeared from sight.

  Zena watched with her until exhaustion made her eyelids droop. She forced them open again, afraid to sleep, and stared listlessly toward a horizon turned pale with dust. Waves of heat shimmered against her vision, but she saw no other movement, no sign of life anywhere on the expanse of cracked brown earth before her. Once, huge herds of animals and miles of undulating grasses had decorated the plains, but this Zena did not know. All she had ever seen was an occasional tree thrusting its bare branches upward as if in supplication, and piles of sun-bleached bones, mute testimony to the power of the drought.

  A twig snapped beside her, and she jumped in alarm. But it was only her mother, climbing slowly from the tree. An infant, its round eyes enormous in a nearly fleshless face, was clutched tightly against her bony chest.

  Calling to Zena to follow, Tope headed toward an old stream bed she had spotted in the distance. The pebble-lined fissure was all that remained of a stream that had once thrust its way, bubbling, through the grasses. Now it looked dry as bone, but water sometimes lingered beneath the surface of such places. Without water, Tope knew they would not last much longer.

  Too drained to move, Zena did not respond. Tope looked back and called to her. Every few yards, she stopped and repeated the calls. Finally, when Zena still had not stirred, she uttered an imperative hoot of alarm.
The harsh sound, familiar to Zena since her birth six years before, triggered an automatic response. Whimpering softly, she lowered herself from the tree and floundered after her mother.

  A tiny pool of water slowly formed as Tope dug deeply into the old stream bed. Imitating her mother, Zena finally managed to obtain a few slurps of tepid, earth-laden liquid. But it was enough to ease her thirst a little.

  All the rest of that day, Tope headed west, following an instinct she did not question. Her deep-set eyes, protected from the glaring sun by a jutting ridge of brow, swept the barren landscape constantly as she walked, and her sensitive nostrils twitched, testing the air for scents. Zena tried to imitate her mother, but there was nothing to see but the haze, nothing to smell but dryness. She licked her forearms, seeking a few precious drops of sweat. Dust coated her tongue instead.

  Tope lunged suddenly at a small lizard that had crossed her path. She caught it deftly and crammed it into her mouth. Dislodged by the abrupt movement, the infant began to whimper. Tope pulled it close to her breast, which hung low and pendulous so the baby could suckle as she walked. But little milk was left to comfort it, and the thin wailing did not stop.

  A sound made Tope whirl. The big male had crept up behind them, his footsteps muffled by the powdery earth and the baby's crying. Tope eyed him warily. She did not trust strange males. Once, she had seen one grab an infant and smash its head against the ground. The image was indelibly printed on her memory.

  Zena ducked behind her mother's back and peered nervously at the intruder. She seldom saw others like herself. Her troop had dispersed long ago, for nowhere in the drought-ravaged land was there enough food and water to support a group. The stranger frightened her. Almost twice the size of her mother, he had massive shoulders, and his jaw and chest were matted with dark hair.

  The male reached out as if to grab the infant, then lunged unexpectedly at Zena. She shrieked and ran back a few steps, but Tope stood her ground. Holding the baby tightly against her chest, she turned and presented her rump. The male sniffed her, then grabbed once more at the infant with a heavily muscled arm. Tope screamed at him and clutched it closer. Again, she presented her rump. This time, the male mounted her and thrust eagerly. He groaned with pleasure, and so did she. When he had finished, he ambled off in the direction from which he had come.

  Tope waited until she was certain he would not follow them again; then she hurried on. Streaks of brilliance on the western horizon told her that darkness would soon come, and she wanted to find a secure place to spend the night. But no tree or pile of rocks that might offer refuge was visible on the pale and desiccated land that lay ahead. All she could see was a clump of stunted bushes, branches stripped of the withered berries that had been the only remnants of a once sumptuous annual feast. But the branches had thorns and would offer at least minimal safety from predators during the dark hours.

  Zena followed her mother into the meager protection of the bushes and watched fearfully as darkness gathered around them. Soon, the air was so black she could not even see the shape of her hand. She listened instead, straining her ears for the stealthy sound of padded claws so she would be ready to run. But no lion or tiger appeared, and finally the light came again.

  As soon as she could see, Tope crawled out of the bushes and started to walk. Zena stumbled after her. Her legs felt heavy and useless, and her throat was so dry she could hardly breathe. She gasped, and sank to her knees. Tope grabbed her arm to pull her up again, but Zena was too heavy for her, so Tope went on by herself. She struggled over a low embankment, holding tightly to the infant.

  At the top of the rise, Tope turned suddenly and called. Zena could hear the excitement in her voice. Wearily, she raised her head. Her mother was gesturing wildly, urging her forward. With the last remnants of her strength, Zena staggered over the embankment. Her eyes widened in hope. Before her was an old lake bed, and in its center was a small puddle of water.

  Mother and daughter hesitated despite their terrible thirst. Once, the lakes of the savannah had gleamed blue in the sunlight and sustained all manner of life. But neither Tope nor Zena had any memory of such beneficence. To them, lake beds held only death. Vast, sunken depressions in the earth, their cracked surfaces were littered with the bones of animals that had died in a last, desperate attempt to slake their thirst. The urge to drink could be perilous. Predators lurked nearby, ready always to spring upon those who chose water over safety. But even they were not safe. Lured by the promise of an easy meal, hunter as well as hunted often flailed helplessly in the treacherous muck near the center of the lake.

  Tope walked cautiously toward the water. Zena followed, eager to drink. But when the thick mud oozed over her feet, sucked at her legs, she grabbed her mother's arm, whimpering in fear. Tope stepped back a few paces, pulling Zena with her. Her dark eyes darted between the clear water in the center and the damp blackness at her feet. Then she handed the infant to Zena and dug into the muck with her strong fingers. Brown water bubbled to the surface, and mother and daughter knelt to drink.

  When her thirst was satisfied, Tope dug still deeper, first in one place, then another, using her stick as well as her hands. A vague memory had returned, from a time when her own mother had dug deep in the mud. Grimacing, she stuck a hand into one of the holes and pulled out a clump of hard objects. She struck at them with a sharp stone until the soft flesh inside was revealed, then stuffed the contents voraciously into her mouth.

  Zena sniffed cautiously when her mother handed her a few of the strange objects. Their smell was unfamiliar but good. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation. Passing the infant back, she pulled eagerly at the mussels and ate until her hunger had begun to abate. Then she found a stick for herself and dug for more. Finally, their bellies full and their thirst appeased for the first time in many months, the pair moved on.

  In the weeks that followed, they were not so lucky. Each day they struggled simply to survive, to find enough food to keep their legs from buckling beneath them, enough moisture to prevent the delirium of dehydration. Nights were an even more terrifying ordeal. Often, the long, dark hours were spent in a shallow hole in the parched earth, without even a bush to cover them. Mother and daughter slept uneasily, wincing at each noise, shrinking toward each other as the blackness deepened.

  Gradually, the terrain changed as they continued to travel west. Rocks littered the dry ground, and the flat plains gave way to occasional low hills. Desperate now to find a place that still offered at least the promise of life, the possibility of a secure shelter at night, Tope struggled up each of them to survey the landscape. Late one afternoon, her perseverance was finally rewarded. A tumbled pile of boulders, big enough to offer shelter, lay ahead. Beyond them a long, rocky slope led to an old river bed, where there would be food. Still further in the distance, she saw the faint outlines of mountains. They drew her forward, for instinct told her that where there were mountains, there could also be water. And where there was water, there was life.

  Excited by the discovery, Tope broke into a run. But when she came near the boulders, her demeanor changed. Keeping Zena behind her, she approached with caution, watching for movement. Predators often made their homes in these rocky outcroppings. When she was sure there was no immediate danger, she moved closer and sniffed carefully at each boulder. Without conscious thought, her sense of smell told her what animal had left a particular scent, whether it signified danger, whether it was old or new.

  A strong musty smell permeated the air near a wide crack between two of the largest rocks, and she leaped away. The scent was not new, but still it alarmed her, for it told her a tiger had once lived in this place. She called nervously to Zena and began to investigate a smaller opening at the other end of the rock pile. No smells assaulted her, so she squeezed into it and gestured to her daughter to follow. Zena sniffed the rocks as her mother had, so she would remember the predator's scent. Then she followed her mother through the other narrow opening.

  The space be
yond was cave-like and dark, and a welcome coolness radiated from the rock walls. Zena crept into a corner and watched as her mother fingered a few bones that were scattered across the floor of the enclosure. They were old and brittle, with no remaining scent. Mother and daughter dropped wearily to the ground. No other creature lived here, and no animal larger than themselves could enter their refuge. Here they could sleep, finally, without fear.

  **************************

  Zena was awakened by a drumming sound on the boulders above her head. The air had a strange smell, faintly acrid, and moisture had collected on the rock walls during the night. Its presence surprised her. Never before had she known wetness on rock. Still, she was grateful. Water could be found in the river bed, but they had to dig deep to reach it. She licked the damp places eagerly, her tongue describing a wide arc against the rough surface.

  Abruptly, she realized she was alone. But the scent of her mother and baby brother remained, reassuring her, so she began to explore the crevices where rocks met ground with her sensitive fingers, looking for food. They had been here for almost a year now, and she knew all the places where plump worms hid or beetles scurried for cover. This time, she discovered a cache of moist seeds. She chewed them quickly, making smacking sounds of pleasure. A slender snake, disturbed by her probing hands, slithered toward her, and she jumped away with a cry. It hissed at her and disappeared beneath the rocks.

  Frightened by the snake, she thrust her head out of the enclosure to look for her mother, but withdrew it quickly. The unfamiliar smell was stronger outside. Even more disturbing were the cool drops of moisture that landed unexpectedly on her face. She mewed apprehensively, bewildered by these strange events. But the need to find her mother was stronger than her fear, and she soon pushed herself out again.