Free CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

that lay between her and the high
plateau she had seen when she had climbed to the top of the ridge with Screech.
    Zena's body
slumped in utter desolation.  She could not go back, and Screech would not
be at the pond.  There was no pond.  Only a small, ash-filled puddle
remained in the spot where it had once glittered in the sunlight.  There
were no grasses, no bushes, no life at all.  Even the trees by the river
had gone, instantly cremated by the fiery flow.
    She could look no
longer.  Sobs shook her body, and cold fear gripped her heart.  Flames
still leaped from the volcano, and she could hear it rumbling.  The menace
could come again, the burning arcs across the sky, the fires, the moving
blackness that was worse than fire, the tremors that made rocks crumble and the
ridge collapse.  All of it could come again.
    She must leave,
must look for Screech and then leave as quickly as she could.  But where
could she go?  She raised her eyes again, to the high plateau.  Only
there could she still see the greenness of trees and grasses, the movements of
animals.
    Tucking the infant
firmly against her hip, she slid down the boulder and began to walk in the
direction of the plateau.  Hope flared anew as she trudged across the
charred ground.  It was near this place that she had lost Screech. 
Surely now, in full daylight, she would find him.  She scoured the area
with her eyes and called to him constantly, listening for any unusual
sound.  But the woods were startlingly silent, almost devoid of
life.  Once, a snake slithered past, leaving a curved gray trail. 
Later, she almost ran into a pair of antelopes that had escaped the fires
below.  They jumped away from her and disappeared silently behind the
dense trees. 
    As she neared the
ravine, a loud roaring made her frown in confusion.  The sound had not
been there last night.  Cautiously, she crept closer and then stood still
as understanding dawned. It was water, rushing water.  The storm had
turned the gorge into a turbulent, fast-moving river.  The sight filled
her with terror.  Her memory of the foaming river was dim, but her brain
and her body reacted instinctively.  Leaping away from the dangerous
current, she plodded reluctantly up the hill to look for another route to the
plateau.  For hours, she searched, but always she found herself back at
the ravine.  There was no way around it.  To get to the plateau she
would have to go through the raging water, but to do that was impossible.
    Hopelessness
assailed her.  Sobbing uncontrollably, she collapsed in a heap on the
unyielding ground.  She was trapped here, stuck in this terrible place
without sun or sustenance or any sign of life, where huge trees menaced her
with their dark shapes and there was no sound, only silence and shadowy
darkness and the horrible stench of smoldering earth and damp ash.  And
she had not found Screech, would never find him now; he was gone, burned in the
fires or sucked into the raging water.
    The infant's wails
roused her.  Zena looked down at the small face, unseeing, and stroked the
soft cheek with her fingertips.  Gradually her eyes focused, as a picture
of lush green grasses, of grazing animals, of trees and bushes laden with
fruit, arose in her mind. These things existed on the plateau; she had seen
them.  And the baby at least must live.
    She rose wearily
and forced her legs back toward the flooded ravine. Somehow, she must get to
the plateau.  It was their only hope.  She walked and walked, looking
for a place to cross, but everywhere she saw only foaming rapids, water so
swift nothing could step into it without being knocked into the tumult.
    Almost bereft of
strength now, she stumbled on.  A branch tripped her and she fell headlong
into the remains of a burned thicket.  As she pushed herself up again, her
hand met a round object that cracked under her weight. Surprised, she looked
down and saw a large egg; four other eggs lay beside it. The promise of