"She helped me. The Mother Herself helped me, will help the little one," Mara answered. She tried to say more, but weakness overcame her and she had to stop. There was no need anyway. Her mother understood instantly.

"It is enough to know that," she said, and now her eyes were filled with radiance. "When you are stronger you can tell me more. It is good, so very good, to know that the Great Mother is with us, after all."

She stood still for a long moment, staring into space as if trying to absorb this momentous news; then she roused herself and began to mix a potion.

"Drink this," she went on, holding a cup to Mara's lips. "It will help the pain in your breasts. Later I will try to bring a little one for you to suckle, but no one must know."

Mara drank obediently and after a while she thought the pain did decrease. She started suddenly. "Rofina?" she asked.

"The Leader cares for her still," Runor answered, and Mara heard the grimness in her voice. "But she is content. Perhaps that is all we can hope for."

Mara nodded wearily and felt a sensation of heaviness descend on her, about her sister Rofina, about her child, about her tribe. Then the weariness overcame her and her eyes closed. Later, she woke again, hearing voices. Rofina was speaking to their mother. When she saw Mara's eyes open, Rofina came to kneel beside her.

"You are better, Mara?" Though she had been born many cycles of the seasons before Mara, Rofina's voice had a child-like quality. Her face had the look of a child as well. It had not always been so, Mara thought, and the familiar anger filled her, replacing the heaviness she had felt before. She pushed the anger away. Anger would not help Rofina.

"I am better," she answered. "It was a long journey."

Rofina smiled a response, but the smile did not reach her eyes. They were empty of all emotion, had been empty ever since that terrible night when her child had been taken from her and killed. From that, she would never recover.

Rofina stood again. She was tall, slender as a young tree, and her long oval face was smooth, unmarked by pain, save for the deep shadows that sometimes appeared beneath her once-luminous eyes. She was well loved by all, especially by the Leader. He had taken her as his daughter after that time and was very kind to her, and now Rofina would not leave him. But was she only his daughter? Mara could only guess. The Leader spoke to Rofina as if that were true, and he did not require her to wear the headscarf like other women, but even he could not fail to see that she had the body of a woman, not a girl. Would Rofina understand what was happening if he took her as his mate? And what would happen to her if another child should come? And what of Korg? What was his relationship with Rofina?

Mara shuddered. She did not trust Korg. The Leader was kind, but Korg...

Rofina's voice interrupted. "I will go back now," she said quietly. Mara watched her glide gracefully across the tent and out the entrance. Rofina always became nervous if she was too long away from the Leader. Only in his presence did she seem to feel safe.

"She is all right," her mother repeated. "Perhaps it is best this way."

"Yes. It is just that I worry. Korg is too close." As soon as she spoke his name, it seemed to Mara that he was in the tent again, standing behind the Leader in the shadows. Korg was behind the Leader in all things, and always in the shadows - except at the ceremonies. Then he was sorcerer, awesome to behold as he helped the Great Spirit to enter the Leader. There was power in Korg, evil power; everyone in the tribe felt it except the Leader, who brushed aside their fear. Perhaps, as the others insisted, the Leader was too good in himself to see evil in others, or perhaps...

Mara left the thought unfinished and allowed herself to drift into sleep again. Later, she felt a tugging at her breasts. Runor had smuggled in an infant to suckle. Was it really safe? The relief was wonderful.

Once each day, the baby came, until Mara's milk gradually dried up. Only the child's mother knew, and she was sworn to secrecy. Still, Korg had eyes and ears everywhere, and they must be careful.

Days passed, then a full cycle of the moon, and Mara ceased to worry so much that Korg and the Leader would find out what had happened to her. The knowledge that the Great Mother was with them helped. She and her mother spoke to the Goddess each day, asking for Her help and guidance, and even though there was no direct answer, Mara knew She was there.

Had the Leader not come, she thought to herself, she might one day have been the wise one for her tribe, as her mother had been many years ago and her mother before her, for many generations. Then, they would have journeyed south twice each year with all the other People of the Mother tribes to the sacred stones by the sea, to listen as their spiritual leader, the one who bore the name of Zena, called down the Goddess so that all could be renewed by Her spirit.

An idea came to Mara suddenly, that one day it would be so again. Perhaps that was why Zena had come to her, not just to save her child but to bring the Goddess back to them. Mara's heart lifted at the thought and hope poured into her.

Just as quickly it drained away. Perhaps she only imagined that her tribe had been happier as Mother People, with Runor as their wise one. She had only been a child then, who did not understand. And after all these years, people might not wish to return to the Goddess. The Leader's beliefs had infiltrated every aspect of their lives, and to be without them was hard to imagine. Besides, everyone in the tribe adored him. He was kind and generous, they said, and if he sometimes seemed cruel in his efforts to keep order or to assuage the Great Spirit, they understood. The sacrifices were small compared to the horrors that would come if they were not made. The spreading ice, the terrible cold that afflicted their ancestors, the fierce northern invaders who had followed had not been forgotten. The old people kept the memories alive, told how their parents and grandparents had died of starvation and cold as the ice crept across the land, how the plants and fruits had disappeared and the great herds of animals had lumbered south, with the savage tribes behind them raping and pillaging and killing all who did not flee before them.

Only if the tribe obeyed the rules the Great Spirit set down for them could these disasters and all the others, like floods and droughts and storms be prevented, the Leader told them over and over again. Most important was the rule that children born to the Great Spirit must be returned, sacrificed on the sacred altar.

"When the Great Spirit comes to a woman," the Leader had explained, 'she is blessed. If a child should form in her womb she is doubly blessed, for the child comes not from a man but from pure spirit. Her body remains untouched, and any child created by the Great Spirit is not child but part of the Spirit Itself and must be returned. It is in this way that we prevent the horrors from coming. Neither droughts nor floods nor endless cold, nor even the terrible moving sheets of ice that bury everything in their path, will plague us when the child is returned, as the Great Spirit demands. Only this will placate his wrath."

Rofina had believed this, when the Great Spirit had come to her. She had been proud to be so chosen, had felt that she was blessed to be with child while still untouched by a man - until the child had been snatched away and taken to the altar.

Mara had not believed. To kill an innocent babe for such a reason could not be right, and she had known even then that she would never agree.

And then the Great Spirit had come to her, as if it had known her thoughts and wished to punish her for them. An image of the terrifying creature, whose densely furred body was larger than that of any man and whose face and claws were those of a beast, came into her mind. She shuddered with fear - not so much from the memory as from the dreadful suspicion that had come to her that night. Just before a potion that had been forced down her throat had taken effect, the visage staring down at her had seemed to slip away. Behind it she thought she had glimpsed a face - the face of a man. And when she had awakened many hours later there was soreness inside her. Though she had not mated before, she was certain that what the Great Spirit had done to her was what any man did to make a child. Rofina had sworn it was not so, but Mara could find no other explanation for the infant she soon discovered was growing inside her.

She had left as soon as her belly began to swell, determined not to let her baby be sacrificed as Rofina's had. Even if her action meant that some disaster would befall the tribe, she was glad she had acted as she did. She wished now that she had managed to persuade Rofina to do the same. Perhaps then her sister would not be as she was today.

Mara watched her mother bend down to retrieve the statue of the Goddess, which they kept hidden in a hole in the dirt floor. Runor looked so old, so sad and frail. Once, she had stood tall and proud, now she always looked afraid. It was Korg she feared, Mara knew; what she did not know was why her mother's fear was so strong, strong enough to turn her into a shadow of her former self. All the people in the tribe were afraid of Korg, but her mother's fear was stronger, and that was very strange. Runor had never been afraid of any man before.

Korg had much to answer for, Mara thought bitterly, but until Runor was ready to tell her the cause of her fear she could not stop his persecution. All she could do was offer comfort, and perhaps hope.

She went to her mother and hugged her. "It will not always be like this," she said, surprised at the conviction in her voice. "That I promise. One day, you will be wise one again."

She turned away then, suddenly ashamed. "Before, I did not understand," she said quietly. "I did not believe. I thought... I thought..."

"You thought I was just an old woman imagining the Goddess," Runor retorted, but there was humor in her voice.

Mara smiled. The smile faded quickly as a form flitted past the door of the hut. Had someone been listening?

Runor saw it too. "We must not speak aloud of the Goddess," she said in a forceful but almost soundless whisper. "We know already what is in each other's minds. From now on, we will speak of Her only with our eyes and our hearts. For you are right. One day soon, change will come. I can feel it gathering around us. We will wait, and keep our silence."

Mara nodded, believing her. Smiling, she formed her arms into a cradle and swung them back and forth. And when that time comes, she was saying, I will hold my child again.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Mara's baby stretched out his plump arms. Mara-Sun, they had decided to call him, so they would not forget his origins. His mouth opened in a wide yawn, and Zena saw the first tooth pricking through his pink gums. That must be why he had been irritable lately. Normally, Mara-Sun was placid and happy.

He began to whimper. Zena picked him up and carried him back to the clearing, where one of the nursing women could feed him. All of them adored Mara-Sun; his flashing grin was irresistible, as were his big blue eyes and the thatch of pale hair that stuck straight up all over his head. She wondered again what had happened to Mara. During the winter she had been unable to look for her, but now that the snows were gone perhaps she could start again.

An idea came to her. She would go to Mara's village with the traders. Each spring, they set off along well-used tracks that led from one village to the next, carrying food and other items to be exchanged for the materials they needed. This year, she would ask them to include Mara's village. She would have many days to find out what had happened to Mara while the trading was accomplished. She could also ask about Teran. Mara had known nothing of her, but some of the others might.

Excited by her idea, Zena ran to find Larak.

"That is an excellent suggestion," Larak agreed. "I am anxious to find out more about the leader in Mara's village. It is especially important to know if he is as persuasive as others say. I feel the Goddess in these happenings," she added thoughtfully. "It is as if She wishes something from us, but I do not know what it is. Perhaps you will discover this, as well as finding Mara."

"I will try," Zena replied, and then wondered if she could in fact find Mara's village. All she knew was that it was across the mountains to the north, which meant the traders might have to spend days looking for the right village. Teran would have anticipated that difficulty, she thought despondently.

A newcomer to the tribe called Lief unexpectedly solved her problem. He had lived in the north for many years and had traveled widely. He knew Mara's village; in fact, he told them, he had passed through the place only a few moons ago, and he would be happy to show Zena and the traders the way.

Zena had noticed him first when he had come to the Great Sea to watch the sacred ceremonies. She had been aware that his intense gaze was often upon her, though he had not spoken to her. Then, one day toward the end of winter, he had turned up in the village and asked to join the tribe. He was welcomed gladly. To have new people, especially a man as able and experienced as Lief, was always good. He was renowned for his skill with a bow and arrow or a slingshot, and could hit a target with great precision from long distances with both. His well-formed features revealed little of his thoughts, even less of his emotions, but the intensity in his deep-set eyes and the attention with which people listened to him told Zena they were there.

Oddly, he still had not made an effort to speak to her, nor had she tried to speak to him except to exchange polite greetings. She was aware that her manner with him was stiff, even as she was intensely aware of his presence.

Larak had also noticed that although Lief did not speak often, people listened with great attention when he did. Partly, that was because of his deep, soft voice, which carried a note of authority even as it was gentle, but his remarks were also worth hearing. Larak was especially eager to know what he had learned about the new leader during his travels. She suspected his opinions would be perceptive and interesting, and she was not disappointed.

"I have not seen the new leader myself but I have often heard others speak of him," Lief told her when she questioned him. "He is indeed persuasive and many people wish to follow his ways. Others follow him because they are afraid, though he does not use violence to make them obey, only words. In that way, he may be better than the northern leaders of the past," he added, trying to keep skepticism from his voice. His travels had taught him that it was wise to determine how others thought before expressing his opinions.

Larak, however, left him in little doubt. "That can also be worse," she remarked wryly. "It is harder to fight persuasive words than fierce actions."

Lief nodded, impressed. Larak was indeed a wise woman. "You are right," he agreed. "I have seen the effect of this leader's words. It is very strong, and those who follow him seem unable to think for themselves.

"I do not think his ideas will last long, though," he added. "It is against nature for people to act as he convinces them to act."

Larak looked doubtful. "Most people prefer to follow," she observed, "and if the message is strong enough they will follow blindly."

Lief grimaced. "I, too, have observed that," he admitted. "What I do not know is how they can be weaned from obeying without any thought of what that means."

Larak was as impressed by his answer as he had been by hers. She smiled at him, telling him without words that they understood each other. "Nor do I," she replied after a moment. "I do know, however, that I am glad you have come to us in time to travel with Zena and the traders. You will be a great help to them, I am sure."

She regarded him for a moment, wondering whether to say more. She was almost certain that his decision to join the tribe was connected to Zena. She had seen his eyes on Zena, observed how unaccountably shy, even awkward, he and Zena were in each other's presence. They were intensely aware of each other but at the same time seemed not to know what to say to each other. Neither of them behaved like that normally, and the reason seemed obvious to her. She hoped she was right. Lief would be good for Zena. There was a steadfast quality in him that might help to make up for the loss of Teran.

Larak's face sobered. Zena was struggling, unable to find balance without her twin. Together they had made a seamless whole; alone, Zena felt incomplete, which was not surprising. Still, she would soon have to assume her position as leader of the Mother People, and for this she would need all the strength and power that lay latent within her. That they were there Larak did not doubt, but Zena had to realize this for herself. Perhaps Lief could help her with that.

"You have some regard for Zena, I think," she remarked, deciding to test her idea. Her eyes twinkled as she saw him redden slightly. So she had been right.

"That is true," Lief admitted, "though I do not yet know her very well."

Larak nodded. "That will come," she said with a smile. "And I am glad you are here. Zena is very vulnerable right now, unsure of herself, and I believe you can help her regain her confidence."

"I would like very much to help Zena," Lief confessed, and to his surprise found himself telling Larak about his experience at the Great Sea, his realization that he had to find Zena and be with her. He had never thought to tell anyone of that strange impulse, except perhaps Zena herself if the opportunity arose.

Larak smiled to herself. So she had been right about that too. She had felt the hand of the Goddess in Lief's sudden appearance, as she did in so many unexpected events. Her ways were devious indeed!

She pressed Lief's hand warmly. "That is good. I am pleased. Take care, though, that you do not get burned," she cautioned, her eyes twinkling again. "There is more fire in Zena than any of us knows. And more power. One day, these will emerge."

Her face sobered instantly. "And when that happens, danger will not be far behind. That is always the way, whether we like it or not."

"I will take that chance," Lief assured her, aware that he meant the words. A thrill of anticipation shot through him. A new adventure was about to begin, an adventure that would involve Zena; he knew that as surely as he knew the moon and the sun and stars moved in the sky. His inexplicable instinct to come to her had not misled him.

A few days later, the small group was ready. As well as Zena and Lief, there were two other men, Durak and Hular, and another woman called Sorlin. All were loaded down with supplies; as a result the journey was slow, especially on the third day as they climbed toward the high peaks on the southern side of Mara's village. Up and up they went, past a cold alpine lake buffeted by winds, then on to the pass. By the time they reached it, Zena wondered if her legs would take her down the other side; even more, she wondered how Mara had managed such a difficult trek so soon after the birth. At least there had not been much for her to carry - not even her newborn son, she thought sadly.

The bleating of goats greeted them when they crested the ridge. Zena stopped, entranced by the vista. Lief joined her, and a jolt of sheer pleasure went through him when he saw her expression. She loved the mountains as he did; her face gave that away. He looked out for himself, and all his old love for high places came rushing back. The scene truly was beautiful. Craggy peaks still covered with snow ringed the lush valley below, making it inaccessible to any but the most determined, and the thick glaciers that thrust out between them gleamed blue-white in the afternoon sun. Waterfalls plunged from their ridges, spilling into steeply contoured hills that were brilliant with greenness. The scent of flowers permeated the air; the meadows were covered with them - red and yellow and white, pinks and blues and purples as well. Around them flitted multi-colored butterflies, and swarms of bees uttered a low monotone of buzzing that soothed the ear.

Far below clumps of huts perched near a narrow river that wound lazily through the valley, many more huts than he had seen on his last visit, Lief saw with a frown. The leader must have attracted still more people. The realization made him anxious, and he decided to watch Zena with care during this visit, although he would also take care that she was not aware of his watching. He did not understand the decision, but instead accepted the fact that his instincts often knew before the rest of him what was needed.

The climb down was easier, though steep in places. Children ran out to greet them, as exuberant as children everywhere, but the adults were oddly reserved. Usually in these remote villages traders were welcomed with enthusiasm.

One reason for the villagers' reserve soon became apparent. They were preparing for a ceremony of some kind and were busy with their tasks. They were also uncertain whether their leader would welcome traders at such a time. The traders were not sure either. Perhaps they should go into the hills for a day or two and then return.

Their indecision was relieved when a tall man with a commanding presence strode up to them. All of them knew instantly that this was the Leader.

"Welcome," he said, his arms outstretched to confirm his words. "To have you with us at this special time gives us great pleasure. The ceremony of affirmation for the Great Spirit will soon begin." Zena had never heard a voice like that before. It rang in the ears in the same way as the sounds made by a bone flute, penetrating, but beautiful as well. She was aware of wanting immediately to hear it again.

Lief watched her face and felt suddenly cold. No one could fail to be attracted to such a voice. There was no harshness in it, only joyous certainty. This leader was a man to be reckoned with, perhaps even admired. His uneasiness increased.

"We thank you," Zena answered hesitantly. "We would like very much to witness your ceremony, if that is what your people prefer."

She was about to add that they would leave and come back later if that was best but changed her mind. She wanted badly to see what happened in this ceremony. How else could she learn more about the new leader for Larak, as she had promised?

The Leader smiled at her and held out his arm, to motion her forward. Zena felt herself drawn toward him, though she had not consciously moved. There was no doubt he had power, she thought uncomfortably. Too much power, perhaps.

"First," the Leader said, drawing all of them along in his wake, "you must have food and drink to refresh you after your journey." He beckoned to a woman, who came eagerly to do his bidding. "Bring food and drink for the strangers," he told her. There was no command in his tone, only kindness. His face was kind, too, Zena noticed, kind and patient.

"You must tell me of your tribe, where you come from," the Leader continued, turning back to his visitors.

Hular, the most experienced of the traders, answered, and Zena was glad of the chance just to listen while she watched the villagers going about their tasks. Most seemed content; others had an almost rapturous expression in their eyes. On one or two faces, though, she glimpsed fear. She did not see Mara and decided not to ask for her. That could cause trouble.

A movement behind the Leader made her look up. A man had emerged from the shadows of a hut and stood watching them. He was stooped and thin, beardless, with pure white hair. Until he came close, Zena assumed he was old. She was wrong. His face was unlined, the hair not white as she had thought, but flaxen, so pale the mistake was easy to make. His eyes were pale, too, as if the blueness in them had been diluted by water. A feeling of revulsion washed over her as he approached. Never had she reacted that way to a person, and she was astonished.

Lief noticed the pale eyes too, and remembered the woman he had spoken to in the woods while he was traveling. Hers had been the same. Could she be the sister of this man? The uneasiness he had felt then returned.

"It is time," the pale man said to the Leader. He did not greet the visitors or even look at them, but Lief was certain that they had been well studied, their faces memorized.

"Then I must come," the Leader answered genially. "Korg does not let me forget my duties," he added to the others with a smile. He rose to join Korg and placed a friendly arm around the smaller man's shoulders. Lief thought he saw Korg flinch but it was such a tiny reaction he could not be sure. The Leader seemed not to notice, nor did he remove his arm as they moved away.

The woman came with food and drink. "If you will follow when you have finished, I will show you where the ceremony takes place," she said in a low voice.

"You should wear these," she added, handing a dark scarf to Zena and Sorlin, the other woman who had come. "It is the custom here." She waited patiently while they refreshed themselves; then she helped Zena and Sorlin put on their scarves and led them to a clearing.

At one end was an area of bare well-swept earth, roughly circular; behind it was a backdrop of thick, low-branched trees. The villagers had already gathered and were sitting on the ground at the edge of the swept area, murmuring quietly, their faces expectant. After a while, a hush descended on the waiting group, and silence came. Once, a baby cried, but was instantly shushed by its mother.

Gradually, sounds began to emanate from the woods behind the circle of dirt. They were deep, repetitive, with a booming quality the visitors could not identify. Faint at first, they grew stronger and stronger, more and more insistent, and the villagers' bodies began to move to their rhythm. The booms came louder, faster; now they were impossible to ignore, and Lief and Zena felt their own bodies begin to move. Faster still, louder still, came the rhythmic pounding, until finally it reached a frantic crescendo that hurt the ears; then, very slowly, it tapered off until all they could hear were the hints of sound that had come in the beginning. And then, abruptly, there was nothing.

The silence was absolute. Tension built among the waiting people; Zena and Lief could feel it, almost taste it. Moments passed, then more moments. The faces were taut with expectation, almost with apprehension, but still no one moved; no one seemed even to breathe.

Just when it seemed that the clearing would explode with the strain of waiting, a figure erupted into it with such speed that Zena's heart pounded in alarm. With long, graceful leaps, it swirled and gyrated around the circle of dirt. It had the face of a bird but the body of a man. Naked save for a cloth wound tightly around its loins, its hairless skin gleamed white, almost translucent, in the soft evening light. The figure moved as if it had no bones, only fluid, rippling muscles that did not know the normal boundaries of strength or rigidity, so that they could propel it into the air in impossible bounds or mould it into positions no man could assume.

So fixated were all eyes on the figure, with its lithe form and intense movements that no one saw the Leader enter the circle. He simply materialized in its center and stood there, still as stone, while the cavorting figure leaped around him. His eyes were closed, his face raised to the sky, and his hands were held in front of his chest, palms together, fingers extended at an angle toward the crowd.

The drumming sound came again, low at first, then louder, as the prancing figure continued its gyrations. Another sound joined it, and this one they recognized. Deep in the woods, someone played a flute. The notes rose and fell, beautiful in tone, even more compelling than the drumming. Their ears could not escape them any more than their eyes could escape the dancing figure. Faster and faster it whirled, higher and higher it leaped until the leaps were so high Zena thought it truly must be bird, not man. No man could jump so far from the ground, hang suspended in the air and then land as if on a cloud instead of the hardness of earth. But it was a man; she was sure it was. She thought, too, that it must be Korg.

When the figure slowed, she was certain. The dance changed character as she watched. Before, it had been graceful in its intensity, magnificent to see, but as the movements slowed, the figure seemed to invest them with savagery. The revulsion Zena had felt earlier returned. Each gesture was exaggerated, drawn out; there was cruelty in them somehow, and the leaps were twisted instead of fluid, as if something twisted in Korg's mind had come into them and contaminated them. Images of pain came into Zena's mind and she was suddenly afraid, threatened by the malevolence that seemed to emanate from the gyrating figure. Lief watched her face and felt her fear, as if it had come into him instead.

And all the time, the Leader stood perfectly still, as if rooted to the ground, like a huge tree that could not fall, would never fall. The contrast was extraordinary; the tall, commanding immobility of one, the insistent, almost obscene movements of the other, smaller figure that seemed never to stop.

And then it did stop. The whirling creature executed one last leap straight into the air and fell prostrate at the feet of the Leader. It lay there as if broken, its arms extended toward the still form above it, its bird-like face cast in the dirt. Abruptly, all was silent once again; the booming noises stopped, the flute, too. Even the birds kept silence. It was as if everything, all the creatures of the forest and the skies as well as the people, were waiting for something else to happen, something profound, something that would change them so that they would never be the same again. Lief tried to pull his eyes away and watch Zena again, but he could not.

Long moments passed and nothing moved. Then, very slowly, the Leader lowered his arms and spread them wide. He held them out there, immobile, waiting. All eyes were on him now, all breath suspended, as the people waited with him.

Suddenly, with a dramatic gesture, the Leader brought his arms up in a great sweeping arc that seemed to encompass the prostrate figure at his feet, the clearing and everyone in it, the earth below him and the sky above. His voice carved into the silence, and their breath caught in their throats at the sound.

"The Great Spirit has come. All power belongs to the Great Spirit. Submit to the power, the power that will heal your hearts and minds, the power that will give you strength. Give yourself to the Spirit; it waits for you, waits for you..."

All around the clearing a murmur rose as the people answered. "We give ourselves to the Great Spirit; to the Great Spirit that has all power we submit our hearts and minds." Over and over they repeated the answer, their voices rising and falling in harmony, and then there was silence again.

The Leader's voice rose once more. "The Great Spirit hears you, hears us all and is pleased by our submission. Now we must wait for the words, the words of truth that will soon come..."