The Boy of the Painted Cave (11 page)

A moment later Tao saw Volt come into the clearing. The big leader soon found the spear in the thicket. He held it up and showed it to the hunters. Tao was certain they must know he was not far away.

He watched as Garth came up and went with Volt down by the river. He could hear them talking and wading through the shallow water, studying the tracks of the wolf dog on the bank.

The big leader walked back under the willow tree. He stood there looking around, grunting and shaking the spear as Garth and the other hunters searched the bank. Then, slowly, he glanced up into the branches of the willow. Tao held his breath. He pressed his body against the rough bark and felt it dig into his arms and legs. Cautiously he peered down through the screen of branches and leaves. Volt was still directly below. The big man walked around the tree. He kept looking up, scanning the branches. Then he stopped and looked straight at Tao. For one brief moment their eyes met. The boy was sure he had been discovered. He waited silently, his heart pounding, as he dug his fingers into the gray bark.

Volt continued to walk beneath the tree, his eyes searching from branch to branch. With a wave of relief Tao saw him turn away and go down to the river, where he joined the other hunters. There Volt held up the boy's spear and shook it over his head again. “The fools have crossed the river,” he shouted.

Garth grunted. “Let the Mountain People find them.”

The hunters mumbled to each other and nodded in agreement.

Volt shook his fist. “Come,” he said, pointing his spear toward camp. “Let us go back.”

Tao stayed up on his hidden perch. He was sure Volt must have seen him. Calling off the hunters might only be a trick to get him down. He waited grimly for darkness. Then he climbed to the ground, cramped from his long watch. Bone tired, he spent the night huddled in the shadows of the riverbank, thinking about Ram. In a few days, if the hunters did not return, he would call the wolf dog back.

The next morning, still tired and hungry, Tao fished for minnows in the pools and eddies along the riverbank. He had only caught a few when he heard an eerie drawn-out howl come from across the water. It was a long, mournful
whooo-woo-woo-woo
and it drifted over on the misty morning air. It came again and again, echoing through the dank woodlands. The boy listened for a few moments, wondering. He heard it again, louder this time.

Suddenly his body stiffened. It was the howl of a wolf.

Tao walked up and down along the riverbank, looking toward the far side, where the mountain sloped down to the water and the hemlock and spruce trees crowded the shore. Again he listened and again he heard the sad, lonely cry. Without waiting longer, he pulled off his deerskin boots, tucked them under his belt and plunged into the river. He swam steadily, his dark head bobbing above the cold water. The swift current carried him downstream as he made for the opposite shore. When he got close to the bank, he reached out and grabbed an overhanging hemlock branch and pulled himself out of the water. Stepping onto the dry land, he sat down and shoved his feet into the wet boots. He found a broken tree limb and, using it as a crutch, he vaulted up through the woods.

The howling continued, coming from somewhere on the distant hillside. Tao made his way up through the spruce forest, hobbling over the stones and roots, guided by the wailing howl. Desperately he pushed through the tangle of undergrowth. All he could think of was Ram.

He saw fresh tracks going up the steep slope, and he knew men had been this way only a short time before.

He plunged through a low stand of hemlocks, ducking under the branches, tripping on the creepers. The howling cries were closer now. Suddenly he crashed through a thicket of junipers and stepped into a clearing. There was Ram, lying on the ground, alone, his legs lashed to a pole with leather thongs. When he saw the boy, the wolf dog whined and struggled to get free.

Tao's anger flared. He ran up to the wolf dog and put his hand on the animal's shoulder. “Hold still,” he whispered as he drew his flint knife and began to cut the bindings. Ram squirmed. Tao was almost finished when a heavy voice called out, “Let the wolf dog be.”

The boy whirled around to see a large, red-bearded man dressed in a bearskin robe step out of the bushes. The big man glared at him. He held a spear, pointing it at Tao. The boy heard the sound of footsteps and snapping twigs. A moment later, nine more hunters came out of the underbrush. They were dressed in sheepskin tunics, and all of them carried spears. Tao saw the anger in their eyes. “Who are you?” asked the red-haired leader. He spoke a language almost like Tao's own.

“I am Tao of the Valley People.”

The man grunted. He understood. “We have watched you across the river with your wolf dog. Now you hunt on our land.”

“No,” said Tao. “I came only to get Ram. I do not want your game.”

The big leader shook his head, his eyes flashing defiance. “The wolf dog stays,” he said. “He belongs to us now.”

Tao's fist tightened around his flint knife and he stepped forward. Two of the hunters grabbed him by the arms and held him back. The others tied Ram's mouth with fibers and thongs, then lifted him up on the long pole. The wolf dog squirmed and struggled, froth dripping from his mouth as he tried to get free.

Tao twisted and tried to pull away. Anger surged through him as he saw the hunters carry Ram into the forest. “Let the wolf dog go,” he said harshly. “He has done you no harm. I will leave your land. I will never return.”

Once again the man shook his head.

“Then give me the wolf dog,” said Tao. “I will hunt with him ... here ... and bring you much food.”

The big leader glanced at the hunters, looking from one to another. They shook their heads. But one said, “Maybe the boy speaks wisely. It will be a help to have a wolf dog again.”

The leader grunted. “Come,” he said, “bring the boy. We will ask the shaman.”

Tao turned quickly. “You have the shaman?”

“Yes,” said the leader. “He rests in our camp.”

“Graybeard?”

The big man nodded as he strode ahead. “He is sick.”

Tao followed the hunters up through the pine forest to the camp of the Mountain People, where a circle of skin huts was set up at the foot of the high ledge. Three women were busy skinning an ibex while children played with stones near a woodpile. They stopped and looked up, their dark eyes full of curiosity, as Tao limped into the clearing.

The red-bearded leader took him over to one of the huts, where he reached down and opened the skin flap. “Here,” he said. “The shaman sleeps. He does not eat and he grows thin.”

In the dim light Tao saw Graybeard lying on a bed of dried grass and skins. The old man lifted his head slowly, his sunken eyes blinking from the light. A spasm of coughs racked his body as he crawled out of the hut.

Tao was shocked. He had never seen the old man so thin and feeble.

“Ah,” said Graybeard, his voice weak. “The Mountain People have brought you? They say I am dying.”

The boy shook his head. He looked up at the red-bearded leader, unwilling to believe what he had heard. “It cannot be.” Tao knelt. “Graybeard, with rest you will be well again.”

“Perhaps,” said Graybeard, “but first you must help me get back to the land of your people.”

Tao shook his head again. “I cannot go back.”

“Why?”

The leader looked down. “Tell the shaman.”

Tao looked uneasily at the man, then began. He told Graybeard how he had sent Ram across the river to escape Volt and the clan hunters and how the Mountain People had captured him.

The big leader nodded. “Now he will stay with us and hunt with the wolf dog.”

“No,” said Graybeard. “He cannot stay.”

The leader scowled and went away.

“Do not worry,” said Graybeard to Tao. “I will tell them to let the wolf dog go.”

“But if I take Ram back to the valley, my people will kill him.”

Graybeard held up a hand. “If you trust me and do as I say, there will be no danger.”

Tao frowned. “I do not understand.”

The old man smiled weakly. “The longhorns have come back onto the high plains. Tomorrow is the day of the hunt. Tonight we will paint images of the great bulls on the walls of the Secret Cavern.”

Tao was stunned. “But I am not a Chosen One. The elders will not accept me.”

“I have trained you,” said Graybeard, breathing heavily. “And I will give the word so that the clan people will know. You will make the spirits of the longhorns live in the Secret Cavern.”

“But you are still the Cave Painter.”

“No, Tao, I can no longer lift my arms or hold a brush.”

“Then you must rest and get well and you will paint again.”

The old man bent over, coughing badly. “There is no time. Even now the herds are on the high plains. The hunters are waiting.”

“There are others.”

“None as good as you. Your images are true and will please the spirits.”

Tao shook his head. “It is a long journey.”

“I can walk slowly.”

“You are like an old boar,” said the boy. “You will not give up.”

“If you will not do this for me, I will try to do it myself.”

Tao sighed and threw up his hands. “Then we must start now.”

Graybeard spoke with the leader of the Mountain People again. They released Ram, and Tao was glad to see him safe and unharmed.

Still in a daze, with the sun still high in the sky, Tao helped the old man down through the spruce forest. They moved slowly, with Ram running on ahead, leading the way.

They came to the river, where Tao built a platform of willow branches and tied them together with vines. Graybeard sat crosslegged on the makeshift raft and the boy pushed it out into the stream. It bobbed and tossed on the current, sending up showers of cold water, drenching the old man. Tao winced as he saw Graybeard shivering with cold.

When they reached the far shore, the boy wanted to stop and build a fire, to let the old man rest and dry off.

But Graybeard shook his head, dragging himself along, his teeth chattering. “We must get there before dark,” he said.

As Tao helped the old man along, his mind was filled with fear and doubt. All he knew now was that somehow, tonight, he would become a cave painter.

T
hey walked slowly across the valley, with Graybeard leaning on Tao's shoulder, until they reached the foot of the limestone cliffs. Here Graybeard told Tao what to do. “Listen carefully,” he said, “and do as I say.”

Tao stood quietly, waiting for the old man to catch his breath. He could not believe this was really happening.

“Go up to the top of the cliffs, above the camp, and wait,” said Graybeard. “As soon as darkness comes, climb down the narrow path to the entrance of Big Cave.”

Graybeard took the deerskin bag from his shoulder. He reached in and pulled out a large seashell filled with tallow. In the center was a peat moss wick. The old shaman's hands trembled as he gave it to Tao. “Here is your lamp,” he said. “Light it from the Endless Flame and begin your journey into the cave.”

Even as Graybeard spoke, Tao could feel a cold chill creep up the back of his neck. He was not a Chosen One, yet he would go into the Secret Cavern. It was the greatest taboo of all.

But the old man brushed away Tao's doubts with a wave of his hand. “Follow the main tunnel until you come to the place where the passageway divides.” Graybeard tapped the boy on the shoulder, on the same side as his lame foot. “Stay on this side and you will not go wrong. When you reach the Secret Cavern, it will be deserted. Begin your drawings of the great bulls at once.”

Tao's mind was filled with a hundred questions. So much had happened in so short a time.

Graybeard leaned over, stifling a spasm of coughs. Then he straightened up and looked at Tao. Carefully, he draped the deerskin pouch over the boy's shoulder. “Here,” he said, “this is yours now. Inside you will find the graven stones and all the other magic you will need.”

Tao stepped back, stunned.

But Graybeard continued. “Draw and paint as many longhorns as you can. Then, when I come with the clan hunters, they will see how true your images are and they will know why I have chosen you as the new Cave Painter.”

The old man stopped again. He was breathing hard and wheezing. “Go now,” he said, “and remember what I have told you.”

Tao watched the old man walk away. Slouched over, coughing badly, he disappeared into the dark oak wood forest.

Now the boy was alone with his thoughts and his doubts.

Tao left Ram in the little cave and told him to stay. Then he climbed up the cliffs and walked along the top until he was above the entrance to Big Cave. Below him the big fires blazed and he could see the camp of the clan people. He stayed in the shadows, sitting with his back against an old pine tree.

As he waited, he worried about Graybeard. He had never seen his old friend so thin and weak.

It seemed a long time before the sun set behind the purple mountains. The crickets began to chirp and a pair of nightjars called and swooped overhead.

Tao got up, his hands shaking, his legs unsteady. He curled his bad foot around his tree-limb crutch and started down the narrow ledge leading to Big Cave.

Far below he could see the clan hunters, tiny figures dancing around the big fire. Their chanting and singing drifted up to him on the damp night air. They were celebrating the coming hunt of the longhorns. Some of the men wore bison robes, their heads covered with antlers and horns. Bracelets of shells and bones around their legs and ankles jingled as they danced. Others wore masks carved in the images of bears or devils to ward off the evil spirits.