CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) Read online

  Immediately, she was wet. Drops of water landed on her face, her arms, her back. She shook them off, but more returned. Puzzled, she looked at the sky. The drops seemed to come from up there. She had never seen drops fall from the sky before, and they alarmed her. Even more terrifying was the absence of sun. Never before in her life had the sun failed to rise and spread its harsh glare into every corner of the landscape. Now it had disappeared completely, and the day was gray and muted instead of blindingly bright.

  Zena mewed again, this time a louder call of distress. An answering call came from the dry river bed below. Wide and deep, with high banks, it carved a winding gash through the land. Her mother was standing inside it, holding the baby with one arm. The other arm she stretched toward the sleeping place on the hill, as if in invitation. She uttered another low call, then bent down to resume her search for grubs and snails.

  Zena hesitated. Still the sun had not returned, and the peculiar, acrid smell was stronger than ever. A loud rumbling noise suddenly came from the sky. She looked up fearfully, but she could see nothing, for the drops of water came hard and fast into her eyes and blinded her. The whole world seemed filled with them now. They splashed with loud plunking sounds on the rocks all around her and gathered in puddles on the pale earth, making dark lines as they raced toward the river bed.

  She watched them, frozen into immobility; then, with a sharp cry, she retreated into the shelter. Just as she moved, a blinding flash of light tore across the clouds, and a terrifying crack seemed to split the air into pieces. The sound drove Zena into the farthest corner of the refuge. Wetness came with her; it trickled down her back, making her shiver, and cascaded down the sides of the rocks. Clutching her arms to her chest for protection, she huddled there, listening, afraid.

  A scrabbling sound made her jump, but as she caught the familiar scent, Zena relaxed. Her mother's head, water streaming from it, appeared at the entrance to the cave. In her free hand, she held a limp rodent. It was covered with light fur and had a short, stubby tail. Washed out of its burrow by the rains, it had been easy to catch.

  Tope responded with a comforting grunt to her daughter's squeal of greeting. Then she probed deftly at the animal's skin with a sharp rock. Tearing at the exposed flesh with her strong, blunt teeth, she chewed industriously, spitting out the fur in disgust. Zena held out her hand, and after a while her mother handed her part of the carcass.

  Zena gagged at the strong taste, and chewed with difficulty. Her teeth were better adapted for grinding tubers and grains and nuts than meat. But the flesh of rodents filled a place in her belly that had been empty for so long she had forgotten it was there. Satisfied, and reassured by her mother's presence, she drank from a puddle near the entrance to their refuge, and curled up to sleep again.

  All that day, and for many days after, the rains continued to fall. Flashes of light tore through the sky, followed by deafening crashes. Zena huddled in her corner, occasionally gnawing on the rodent's bones and other scraps left by her mother. Fearful of the unfamiliar sights and sounds, she had not wanted to venture outside. But now her hunger was too great to ignore, and the drumming of rain had slowed. She poked her head out to sniff the air and then emerged into muted daylight.

  The world that greeted her was unlike anything she had seen before. Water was everywhere, in puddles on the ground, in crevices in the rocks, in rivulets that bounded down the slope toward the river bed. Light drops fell on her forehead and dripped into her eyes, but she was too astonished by the strange sights even to wipe them away. The sheen of the rocks, the glitter of puddles, and especially the perplexing ripples that spread outward each time a drop of rain fell, fascinated her. She stooped to examine the ripples more closely in a nearby puddle. Quickly, her hand lashed out. A large insect floated on the water, struggling to fly. She crunched it between her teeth even as she spotted others. Grabbing as many as she could fit into her hands, she crammed them into her mouth.

  Her mother called from farther down the slope, and Zena started toward her. A larger puddle distracted her. Wriggling just under its surface were small black creatures with long tails. Zena reached out to catch one, but it slid from her grasp. Again she tried, and this time she caught the tadpole. For all the years of the drought, they had lain dormant in clusters of eggs. As soon as they were wet, they sprang again to life.

  The rains had begun to transform the landscape as well. A light sprinkling of emerald showed at the roots of long-dead grasses, and clumps of feathery leaves were already thrusting up between the rocks. On the plains behind her, Zena saw spots of red and white and deep blue, waving at the ends of their short stalks. She ran to see, and tasted some of them. The purple was bitter, and she spat it out. But the white ones were sweet, and when she dug beneath them with a nearby stick, their bulbs were succulent and tender.

  The sun burst unexpectedly through the clouds. Bits of light were everywhere, on each leaf, each rock, on the ripples in the water. Zena dropped to her knees to examine them, but when she touched them they disappeared. She blinked and looked again. They reappeared, but then a huge shadow spread across the ground and they vanished once more. She looked up, startled. The clouds had suddenly darkened. Thick and bulbous, they loomed menacingly above her, blotting out the light.

  She stood abruptly, mewing in fear. The air had become almost as dark as night, and she heard a strange noise, a subdued roar, different than any sound she had heard before. It seemed to come from the mountains, not from the sky. She stared toward the peaks, but clouds blocked her view. The rain began again, making it even harder to see through the gloom. First, a few large drops fell, then water began to come at her in torrents, battering her upturned face. She ran toward the entrance to the cave, but she did not enter. Even more than the security of the shelter, she wanted her mother. Darkness when the sun should be high in the sky and the ominous new roar terrified her.

  Squinting against the downpour, she spotted Tope still standing in the river bed. Water swirled around her ankles, and as Zena watched, she took a few steps toward the hillside. Then she stopped and turned a questioning face upstream, toward the river's source in the mountains that loomed against the southern horizon.

  Zena listened to the sound that had attracted her mother's attention, and her terror grew. It was another new noise, a rushing, pounding racket. The sound grew louder and louder, more and more fierce, until it was a deafening clamor. There was wind now as well, furious, tearing wind. She clung desperately to the rocks, calling frantically. Her cries were lost in the howling around her.

  Then, as she watched, a massive wall of water rounded the curve of the river bed far upstream, and came crashing toward her mother. She saw Tope clutch the baby under one arm and start to scramble up the steep bank. But the wall of water was almost upon her; it rose far above her head, filling the width and depth of the river bed. Tope raised a hand to her face, as if to fend off the approaching onslaught. Then it hit her, knocking her backward, and she disappeared beneath the roiling fury.

  Zena uttered a howl of absolute helplessness and despair. Squeezing her body between two boulders so the wind would not tear her away, she stared frantically at the place where her mother had disappeared. But she could see nothing beyond the rain that slashed mercilessly into her eyes.

  Mewing piteously, she slithered into the protection of the cave and huddled in its darkest corner. Deep inside herself, she knew that her mother would not return. She was alone in this harsh new world where the sun did not rise, where wetness and deafening crashes came from the mountains and the sky.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Night fell in total blackness. Mountainous clouds scudded heavily across the sky, obscuring the sliver of moon. Only once did it escape, and its appearance was so quick, so ghostly, that it seemed a mirage.

  Numb with shock and grief, Zena barely moved as the hours passed. Below her, the raging current tore at the banks of the river, pulling bushes, animals, even trees into its widening grasp. Water crep
t relentlessly up the hillside, erasing the life that had grown there since the rains came. It slapped at the boulders by her entrance, sending cold trickles toward her feet. She shivered and drew them closer to her body.

  Toward dawn, the deluge lessened. The lashing of heavy rain became a soft patter, and wind no longer screamed through crevices in the rocks. Now Zena could hear other noises besides the savagery of the storm. A rhythmic swishing accompanied the passage of pebble-laden water up and down the hill, and there were soft, scrabbling noises, as if an animal with padded claws was prowling above her refuge.

  She stiffened. The musty smell that had alarmed her mother that first day had returned. Then, directly overhead, she heard a low, ferocious growl. The menacing sound had meaning for her. Though she had forgotten her former troop-mates, she would never forget the piercing screams one of them had uttered when a tiger had sprung upon her and dragged her away. A picture of the great cat, with its huge curved teeth, appeared in her mind, and she shrank back against the protecting rocks.

  The tiger was pacing; she could hear it moving restlessly, back and forth across the top of the rock pile. The pacing stopped and the footsteps came closer. Hardly daring to breathe, Zena crept noiselessly into the farthest corner of her refuge. Just as she moved, a massive paw thrust through the entrance, and tearing claws scraped the earth where she had been sitting. The paw retreated, and the tiger began to dig energetically, hurling its strength first at one side of the boulders that framed her enclosure, then another. The torrential rains that had driven it back to its high lair had made hunting difficult, and it was hungry. But her mother had chosen well, and the huge predator could not find a way to enter.

  The digging stopped and Zena heard the tiger pad over her head in the direction of its cave. For a long time she dared not move, even to relax her cramped legs, lest it hear her and try once more to enter. Finally, she gathered her courage and crept warily toward the entrance. She should try to escape now, before the huge cat began to prowl again.

  Stiff with caution, she thrust her head out and scanned the area, muscles tensed to pull her back at the slightest sign of danger. But she could see nothing except the ravages of the storm. All around her lay devastation. The clumps of green between the rocks, the emerging grasses and flowers had been swept away, the puddles drained of life. Sticks and branches, even trees, torn from their roots in the mountains to the west, littered the hillside. And still the water was rising, even though the rains had stopped. It lapped loudly at the boulders, and with each wave it crept higher.

  The musty smell was strong, and she saw the tiger's scat on a nearby rock. Zena whimpered anxiously. Without her mother to guide her, she did not know what to do. She could not live near the huge cat, but she was afraid to run, lest it hear her and attack. It could be returning from the hunt already, or perhaps it was waiting nearby, hidden in its lair, behind a rock.

  Fear sent her scurrying back to her corner. All that day and the following night, she cowered in the cave, shivering with cold as water crept around her legs. Hunger gnawed at her belly, but the anguish of being alone was even harder to bear. She wanted desperately to feel her mother's warm body, to smell her comforting scent and the fresh, milky odor of the baby. But they were gone, and they would not return.

  She dozed fitfully. Hunger and cold and dreams would not let her rest for long. Over and over again, she was jerked awake as images of her mother, arms raised against the deluge, vied with pictures of the fierce predator above. But she did not hear it again, and finally she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  She was awakened by sunlight streaming into her eyes from a crack in the rocks above. Reassured by the return of the sun, and prompted by hunger, she dared to poke her head out of the shelter again. There was no sign of the tiger, and its smell seemed fainter, so she emerged. The water had retreated, leaving enormous puddles filled with litter from the storm. Below her, the river ran swollen and fast, its waters muddy. But it did not rage as harshly as it had the day before, and sun sparkled on the crests of its ripples.

  She began to investigate the debris-filled puddles on the hillside below the cave. No tadpoles were visible in the muddied water, but there were a few uprooted plants, their bulbs shining white, and many insects, as well as a dead rodent. The bulbs and insects she ate immediately, but she was reluctant to smash at the rodent and alert the tiger. Instead, she found a sharp rock and turned back toward her enclosure to eat it.

  As she turned, her eye caught a stealthy movement on the boulders. Instantly, her muscles were rigid with fear. A sharp cry froze in her throat as she watched the tiger emerge from its lair. It pulled itself out and stretched, lifting its muscular haunches and massive head high in the air, while its long, tawny back curved toward the rocks. Then it padded slowly toward her cave. It sniffed the area carefully, turned a few times and lay down facing her. Its great paws hung over the entrance to her shelter, obscuring it completely.

  Resting its muzzle on its paws, the tiger yawned. Zena stared, mesmerized by the long, curved teeth that framed its mouth, the gaping cavern between them. The blinding sun made her eyes water, but she dared not look away or even blink, for the huge predator still had not seen her. Then a lizard that had been sunning itself on the rocks scuttled away from the big animal's shadow. The tiger lifted its head lazily to watch the retreating reptile. Zena saw its yellow eyes scan the area toward the river and come slowly to rest on her face. For a long moment, it stared fixedly at her, its tail twitching. Then it pulled itself up and began to lope toward her.

  Zena screamed. There was no escape. The river, with its wild and swollen current, lay behind her. In front, between her and her refuge, was the tiger. Terror paralyzed her body; only her eyes moved, darting frantically between the cave and the river. But then the great cat roared, and the horror of the sound released her. Down the hill she charged, legs clumsy with fear. Rocks and sticks tripped her, and she stumbled in the deep puddles. She ran on, straining to breathe against the pounding in her chest.

  The rushing torrent came closer. Zena stopped, terrified by its angry clamor. Growling ferociously, the tiger broke into a run. In three great strides, it was beside her. Screaming, she plunged into the river.

  Immediately, the turbulent current pulled her legs out from under her. She struggled to regain a footing and gasped for breath as the river sucked her down and tossed her mercilessly as it tore through the high banks. Her head popped up for a moment, and she drew in a great gulp of air. Then, helpless, she went down again. Branches dragged at her, pulling her under until her lungs screamed with pain. She wrenched herself free and lurched forward, tossing and bumping.

  A large stick knocked her shoulder. She grabbed it and hauled herself up to the surface, managed to take a meager breath before the limb was torn from her grasp. Down she went again; water filled her eyes, her ears, her nose. Flailing and kicking, she tried to right herself, but she could not fight the tempestuous river. Her body went limp, and she barely noticed when the raging water tossed her up to the surface, then buried her again, sent her careening into rocks and sunken branches. Then, more than a mile from the place where she had plunged in, it pummeled her into a boulder on the far bank. The impact pulled at her consciousness and she clutched the rock with desperate strength. With a final heave, the current sent her sprawling toward the sand. Her head hit the boulder, and she lay still.

  Almost an hour later, she moved. Her body was tightly wedged between two rocks. Water pulled harshly at her feet, but her face lay safely on the sand. She retched violently, and felt a ringing pain in her head. After a time it subsided, and she hauled herself determinedly up the bank, away from the clutching water. There she stayed for many more hours, while the sun poured its restoring warmth onto her bruised body.

  When she stirred again, the light was fading. She struggled to her knees, then tried to get to her feet, vaguely aware that she must find shelter. Dizziness and nausea overcame her, and she fell back heavily. She gav
e up the effort to rise and crawled instead, dragging herself tenaciously away from the water. Her eyes were clouded with the tears of her retching, and she did not know she had reached some low bushes until thorns scratched at her face. She pulled herself into them, oblivious to the pain. When it seemed that the bushes were all around her, protecting her with their barbs, she collapsed against the hard earth.

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  Zena groaned. Every part of her body ached, and she was cold, numbingly, agonizingly cold. The wet chill of the ground seemed to have penetrated her bones as she slept. She could not stop shivering, and the compulsive movements tortured her bruised flesh.

  She made an effort to rise, but thorns tore at her, and she could not bear this further pain. So she lay still, mewing softly to herself. The sounds comforted her, almost as if another of her kind had uttered them.

  Finally, the sun rose over the ridge of mountains to the east. Its warmth, still tentative in the early morning air, touched her shoulder as she lay curled in a tight ball. It gave her the strength to crawl forward a few yards. Panting, and nauseated again with the effort, she rested again until the sun was high and had sent its heat coursing through her body. Then, with a final push forward, she emerged into open savannah.

  The first thing she saw were legs, many long slender legs, scattered across the plain. Her eyes followed the legs up to rounded bellies, and on to the graceful necks and tossing horns of a herd of antelopes. She stared at them; in the seven short years of her existence, she had seen them only once before, and this she had forgotten. Before the drought, they had come each year to graze on the lush grasses that appeared almost overnight when the rains came. Since the year of her birth, they had not come at all. Now, following ancient instincts telling them greenness had returned to this part of the savannah, they had returned.