CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) (5 page)

She hesitated,
uncertain how to respond. Then the mewing rose into a cry of fear, and she
acted without thought.  Pushing herself out, she ran toward the sound. 
Shivers coursed through her again.  The scent that reached her had been
imprinted on her brain when she was a suckling infant, had been reinforced when
her brother was born.  Prompted by an impulse deeper than memory, she
gently touched her breast.

Another odor
invaded her nostrils, and this time she knew it immediately.  It was
blood, fresh blood.

Cautious now, she
crept toward the smell, but it was quickly obscured by the scent of dampness
and trampled leaves that rose as she moved.  She strained to see, but the
sun still hid below the horizon, and everything around her was shadowy and
indistinct. She might have missed the still form had the little creature not
moaned. The sound drew her forward, and then she saw it.  A small body, a
miniature of her own, lay motionless on the hard ground, its arms out-flung.

She stared,
waiting for it to move or make some further sound. Its eyes were closed, and
its mouth hung open to reveal toothless gums behind lips just like hers. Like
herself, it was hairless except for a dark thatch on its head, but unlike her,
it had a small protuberance at its groin. Zena's memory stirred; her baby
brother had looked like that.  She crept closer, but jumped back in alarm
when the little body twitched violently. Then it was still again.

An unfamiliar
feeling enveloped Zena as she continued to stare, a feeling that grew stronger
when the small male slowly turned, his mouth twitching in pain. Now she could
see why he smelled of blood.  A long gash had been torn in his back, as if
a claw had ripped it.  Instinctively, she knelt down and began to lick the
wound with long, slow swipes of her tongue.  The infant whimpered and
turned, raising his arms toward her. She drew back, alarmed. But his hands only
flicked gently at her face, then grasped at the matted hair that framed it. She
tried to pull away, but the clutching fingers had wound themselves tightly and
she could not free herself.  To stop the pulling, she picked the baby up
and hugged him gently. He gave a deep sigh, and his fingers released her.

Zena stood with
him in her arms. His weight and the heat of his body against her chest felt
strange, yet somehow normal.  Wonderingly, she passed a hand across the
small form, so like her own except for the odd little bump between its legs. 
Tears formed unexpectedly in her eyes.  To hold this wounded creature
close and comfort him was intensely satisfying.  After all the months of
being alone, he made her feel complete, as if an aching void inside her had
finally been filled.  Gently, she pressed her lips against his rounded
cheek.

She did not want
to leave him again, even for a moment, so she carried him carefully into the
cave.  There she licked the wound until blood no longer oozed from
it.  The gash was not so deep, she saw, now that the dirt and blood had
been cleaned away.  When she had finished, the little one nestled his head
at her neck and slept.

Hunger roused her
after a few hours.  Gently, she slid away from the sleeping baby, trying
get up without rousing him.  His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at her
with a startled expression.  The round, dark eyes were huge in his tiny
face.  Then he yawned, a wide stretching yawn, and began to whimper. The
whimpering quickly accelerated into screams.  Zena shifted his weight on
her arm, uncertain what she should do.  Abruptly, the howls stopped as the
little male turned his face toward her chest and began to root around with his
mouth, seeking her nipple.  He sucked eagerly for a few moments.  But
when no sustenance came, he uttered a loud and furious screech.

Baffled, Zena set
him down.  Her action only intensified his screams.  Still howling,
he tried to walk back to her but his legs would not hold him and he plopped
onto his rump.  He held up his arms to her, and a look of desperation came
over his face.  Zena knelt quickly and folded him into her arms, murmuring
soothing noises. When his sobs finally ceased, she maneuvered them through the
dusty space onto the ledge to look for food.  The baby sneezed, and looked
at her in grave surprise.

Bushes with
ripening red berries grew a short way up the hill.  Zena plucked some and
thrust them into the infant's mouth, but he only sputtered and began to whimper
again. She chewed slowly on a handful she had picked for herself. The little
male held up his face, mouth pursed, and stared piercingly into her eyes. Zena
stared back, then, prompted by a memory of her mother with her baby brother,
she placed her mouth against his and transferred some of the well-chewed
berries.  He swallowed and held up his face for more.  Over and over,
they repeated this procedure.  Then the small body relaxed against her
chest, and the round dark eyes closed again.

Zena's shoulders
began to sag under the unaccustomed weight. She carried the baby back to the
cave, doubly grateful now for its security, and laid him in a pile of dry
grasses she used for sleeping.  Then she hurried down to the pond. 
The little one had eaten most of the berries, and she was still hungry.

The area was
deserted except for some small birds that stalked around on skinny legs,
peeping frantically whenever she came close.  Ignoring them, she pulled up
a bunch of the trailing plants to feast on their soft bulbs.  She had
eaten only a few when a loud screech emanated from the direction of the cave. 
She jumped up, still clutching the bulbs, and ran back the way she had
come.  

When she entered
the cave, the little male stopped wailing immediately. He crawled toward her,
his face expectant, and reached for the bulbs in her hands. He pulled at the long
stems, but did not eat.  But as soon as she began to chew some herself, he
pursed his lips toward her face.  She pushed some into his mouth; he
swallowed quickly and held up his face for more.  She tried feeding him
some tubers as well, but they took too long to chew and he became impatient, so
she returned to the bulbs. 

After a time, she
turned away, weary of the procedure.  The youngster popped a bulb in his
mouth and sucked at it.  Grabbing another, he fingered it carefully. Then
he began to crawl around the cave.  One long stem trailed from his mouth,
another from his fingers.  Several times, he tried to stand, but each time
he plopped back onto his rump.  Then he spat out the bulb, crawled into
Zena's lap, and slept again.

She watched him,
bemused.  The little creature had dropped into her life from a place of
which she had no knowledge, for reasons she could not fathom. Yet already he
seemed a part of her.  There was no strangeness to him, only
familiarity.  Her eyes became dreamy as images of her mother and baby
brother appeared.  She straightened abruptly, remembering the scream of
the night before.  It must have been another one, another mother, she had
heard. 

Frowning, she
examined the gash on the baby's back.  An image of the great cat came unbidden
into her head.  She saw again the tearing claws that had scratched the
floor of her refuge as she huddled there after her mother's death.  A claw
had made that gash.  The claws and the fearsome teeth had killed the
mother.  And that meant the great cat was still out there somewhere,
feasting on its kill...

Zena wrapped her
arms protectively around the little male.  He awoke at her sudden touch
and emitted a thin screech.  Then, feeling himself secure in her arms, he
sighed contentedly and closed his eyes.  She smiled, amused. He made that
noise all the time, when he was unhappy or hungry.  She tickled him
gently; he screeched again and stared at her crossly.  Once again, she
tickled; again, he screeched.  She left him alone to sleep.  But
after that, each time she thought of the small creature who had come to her so
unexpectedly, she thought of the screech too.  In her mind, she called him
Screech.

**************************

For a few weeks,
while Screech recovered from his wound, Zena repeated the process of running to
the pond while he slept, gathering food for both of them, and returning with
her bounty.  But one day, he refused to be left behind.  He grabbed
her legs as she entered the passage that led out of the cave, making small sounds
of distress.  She kicked him away gently, but he scrambled after her, so
she turned and held out her arms.  He clambered into them,
chortling.  His black eyes were lively. Zena rubbed her nose against his;
he threw back his head, open-mouthed with delight and then pushed his face
against hers again, to repeat the game. She obliged, her own eyes merry. 
Pleasure welled up in her throat, and she hugged Screech close. His wriggling
body was wonderfully comforting against her own.

He struggled away,
wanting to play again.  She set him down, reluctantly this time. To her
surprise, he landed on his feet.  For a moment, he rocked back and forth
as if he would fall, then he took a few tottering steps. Grinning, she clapped
her hands together.  Screech imitated, his small face split in a beaming
smile.  Again, he tottered forward, frowning in concentration.  When
he reached her, he wound his arms around her neck and would not let go. 
Abandoning the idea of leaving him behind, Zena carried him out of the cave. 
Together, they ventured into the brilliant sunlight.

The antelopes were
feeding quietly.  That meant no predators were lurking, so Zena tucked
Screech firmly against her hip and made her way down through the thick
bushes.  Settling him on the grass, she went to drink.  He crawled
after her at a furious pace, and when she looked around, he was at the edge of
the pond staring into the water.  He leaned over and slapped it with one
hand.  The noise startled him, and he backed quickly away.  Zena took
a large mouthful of water and put her face close to his.  When he opened
his mouth expectantly, she squirted the water into it.  Screech's eyes
opened wide in surprise at the coolness.  He forgot to swallow and choked
instead.  Water dribbled down his chin, his chest, and poured out of his
eyes.  But he recovered quickly and held up his face for more.

All day they
stayed there together.  Screech imitated Zena's every move, digging into
the earth with grubby hands as she searched for tubers, pulling again and again
at deep purple berries that had ripened on bushes near the water. Soon his
hands and face were stained scarlet with their juice.  Zena took him to
the edge of the pond to wash him.  A big green frog jumped into the water
with a loud plop. Screech stared, then struggled from her arms to chase the
frog. He tumbled into the pond, landing unharmed on his rump. Startled, he
looked up at Zena for reassurance, but the novelty of being in the pond quickly
distracted him. Trailing his hands through the cool water, he watched them
emerge tangled in weeds. Carefully, one at a time, he plucked the slimy plants
from his fingers. 

Zena let him play
for a while, then she picked him up and headed for the cave. The sun had almost
reached the western horizon, and the heat had gone from the day.  These
were the hours when predators stalked. She glanced up at the ledge. Its
contours softened by the setting sun, the area around her shelter looked
infinitely welcoming.  Rocks, grasses, and bushes blended together in a
soft palette of pinks and gold, and all the area to the west was steeped in
dusky luminescence.

Screech was
already asleep on her shoulder. She lowered him gently into the nest of
grasses.  Instantly he woke and scrambled back into her arms, whimpering.
Zena lay down beside him so they would not have to be apart.  As they had
each night since he had come, they slept with their arms entwined, their
breathing light and steady against each other's cheeks.

The next morning
when they left the cave, Screech pointed insistently at the red berries she had
fed him that first day.  Zena gave him some from her mouth, then he tried
eating them by himself.  They were fully ripe now and not so hard to
chew.  Slowly, they made their way up to the top of the ridge, following
the bushes. Zena had not been this way before.  Always, she had gone
toward the pond, with its abundant food.

She peered
curiously down the other side.  Below her lay a deep, narrow valley,
thickly dotted with trees.  The ridge wound south toward the mountains,
enclosing the valley on one side, then dropped sharply into a deep ravine that
bordered the other side of the valley.  Beyond the ravine, the land rose
gradually toward a huge green plateau.  Many animals, tiny in the
distance, grazed in its lush meadows.

A movement directly
below her caught her eye, and she gasped.  A long tail, tipped with white,
had flicked briefly above a clump of grass.  Abruptly, the herd of
antelopes feeding nearby became skittish. Their heads tossed nervously and
their hooves beat a fragile tattoo on the grass. Zena stiffened.  It was a
sound for which she always listened, though she was seldom conscious of her
impulse.

Mesmerized, she
watched as the grasses parted and a leopard emerged. Tension marked every line
of its lean body, and its powerful square jaws were clenched in
concentration.  Staring fixedly at the antelopes, it began to slink
forward, its belly low to the ground.  Some were already fleeing, but one
was slower than the others. Toward this one the leopard aimed its hurtling
body.  Nothing could stop it now. Every muscle, every sinew had been
instantly intoxicated by the chase, the lightning rush toward its intended
victim, the long, ground-covering strides that followed, the ultimate, deadly
spring. Swerving desperately, the terrified antelope pounded away. The leopard
swooped after it, its tawny body no more than a blur against the ground. Both
disappeared behind the curve of a hill.

Pent-up breath
whooshed out of Zena's lungs.  Unable to tear herself from the scene, she
waited.  Soon, the leopard reappeared, dragging the lifeless
antelope.  Hauling its victim into a tree, it settled down to feed.