Circles Of Stone - Hardcover

Lambert, Joan Dahr

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0671552856 ISBN 13: 9780671552855

Publisher: Atria, 1997

Synopsis

The story of three wise women, each named Zena but born eons apart, ranges from the African savanna of more than one million years ago to the shores of the Red Sea to the limestone caves of the Pyrenees mountains

About this title

About the Author:

Joan Dahr Lambert has taught at both New York University and Colorado Mountain College.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

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 any where 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 dessicated 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 finger

About this edition

• Publisher: Atria
• Publication date: 1997
• ISBN 10: 0671552856
• ISBN 13: 9780671552855
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 416