The Boy of the Painted Cave (13 page)

Kala shook her head. “No, my son,” she whispered. “The old shaman is dead. They found him lying in the oak wood.”

Tao put his bound hands up to his forehead and closed his eyes as the words stabbed like a knife. “He was sick. I did not kill him. They must believe me. Graybeard was my friend.”

“Hush,” said Kala, her dark form leaning over him, a flint knife in her hand. “They will believe only the evil spirits. That is why I must cut you loose.”

Tao pulled away. “No,” he protested. “They would kill you for this.”

Kala spoke under her breath. “I am an old woman. You have many summers yet.”

Tao shook his head. “If I run away, they will be sure I have killed the shaman.”

“And if you stay?”

“Then I will face Saxon.” He spoke bravely, but deep inside he was afraid. “If I live, they will know I have spoken the truth. If I do not, then it does not matter.”

Kala clicked her tongue and frowned. “You are like your mother. You are stubborn and you walk your own path.”

The next morning the hunters untied Tao's feet and led him up the narrow ledge to the top of the cliff where the high plains began. Fear gripped him, but he would not let them see. He looked straight ahead, his lips tight.

They made him stand with his back to the edge of the cliffs. Far below was the wide green valley. In front of him, the high plains stretched away as far as he could see. Here, groups of longhorns and great herds of bison grazed peacefully on the vast waves of yellow grass.

In the distance Tao saw Saxon, the sacred bull. For more than eight summers the great beast had ruled over these stomping grounds. Now, standing in the bright sun, he seemed larger than ever, with his massive shoulders and long, sharp horns outlined against the horizon.

A cold chill crept up Tao's spine as, once again, he saw the bleached white bones of Saxon's victims scattered across the plains.

The hunters climbed to the top of a mound of rimrock, where they could watch the battle in safety.

Volt untied Tao's hands and gave him a spear. “It is the will of the spirits that you face Saxon with a weapon in your hands,” he said.

Tao was thankful for the spear. It would help him keep his balance. He felt Graybeard's deerskin pouch hidden under his robe. He knew it contained only pieces of flint, the horn of a bison and some graven stones. Hardly the kind of magic that would stop a charging bull.

Volt walked over and climbed up on the rimrock with the hunters. Garth and the others began waving their arms and jumping to attract Saxon's attention. The big bull looked up, his great white horns gleaming in the bright sunlight.

The heavy muscles rippled under his shiny black hide as he trotted to the foot of the rock. He looked up, bellowing, glaring at the group of hunters.

Then he saw Tao standing alone, in the open, within reach. For so large a beast he turned quickly. With heavy strides he advanced, and now Tao could see the fire in his eyes.

Fighting back his terror, Tao stood rooted to the ground, his heart pounding wildly. He leaned on his spear, bracing himself, and waited for the attack.

The massive beast stopped directly in front of the boy, towering over him like an ominous shadow. His eyes blazed. His nostrils flared. Slowly he circled around, taking his time, eyeing Tao closely, as if he knew the boy could not escape.

Tao turned with him, standing on his good foot, balancing himself with his spear on the other.

Snorting and blowing, the black bull lowered his head and stabbed the ground with his horn. He pawed the dirt, kicking up clouds of dust. Then, with a bellowing roar, he charged.

Tao stood firm as the earth shook beneath him. He saw the long, sharp horns coming straight at him as the huge bulk of the animal filled his vision. At the last moment he threw himself to one side and rolled out of the way.

In a rage, the big bull tossed his head and whirled about, his splayed hooves trampling the dried grass.

Quickly Tao jumped to his feet, bracing himself for the next attack.

Once more Saxon lowered his head, flecks of white foam drooling from his mouth and nostrils. He tossed his head again and charged, boiling up clouds of dust.

Tao tensed, gritting his teeth, waiting for the right moment. Once again he sprang aside. But this time he felt a smashing blow as the bull's heavy shoulder slammed against his body, hurling him to the ground, knocking the spear from his hand. For a moment he lay dazed and shaken, unable to move.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Volt jump down from the rimrock, shouting and waving his arms. The enraged bull looked up, uncertain. It gave Tao time to scramble to his feet. But Saxon turned back quickly. Tao was his victim and he would not be distracted. Slowly he walked around the boy, dwarfing him in his shadow. With a wild rush he charged, hooves pounding, eyes blazing.

Tao dodged once more, just in time, as a long, curved horn caught the edge of his robe, spinning him around, throwing him to the ground. The deerskin pouch was torn free and dangled from his shoulder.

Chest and arms throbbing with pain, the boy looked up to see the bull turn, getting ready to charge again. Now there would be little chance to get out of the way. He fumbled blindly for his spear and desperately tried to gain his feet, but the great beast was coming fast.

Then, suddenly, he saw Graybeard's deerskin pouch lying at his side. Quickly he pulled it from his shoulder and swung it above his head. He whirled it around and around and let it fly just as the animal loomed over him. It struck the bull full in the face, the long strap tangling around its horns. Maddened and confused, Saxon ran off in a frenzy, tossing his head, strewing the contents of the bag over the ground.

Tao leaned on his spear, breathing heavily, trying to rest as the crazed beast ran around in circles. Saxon jumped and wheeled, thrashing about in an attempt to rid himself of the offensive object. Finally, with a toss of his head, the big bull sent the annoying bag flying into the grass. Now, more enraged than ever, Saxon turned, strings of foam dripping from his black lips. His nostrils flared and he lowered his head and charged.

Terrified, unable to move, Tao watched him advance. Then he saw a flash of sunlight flicker in the grass. He blinked and looked again. It was Graybeard's shining stone. With a wild leap he tumbled across the ground, scooping it up in his hand. He jumped to his feet and he turned it to the sun, shining the light directly in Saxon's eyes. The great bull slowed up. He stopped and shook his head, baffled and uncertain.

Grunting in fury, Saxon turned and charged again. Tao moved toward him, flashing the brilliant light across his face. Once again Saxon backed off. He trotted around in a wide circle, venting his anger with a bellowing roar.

Then he came back, head down, hooves pounding, shaking the earth. Again Tao caught the sunlight on the stone and flashed it in his eyes. The great bull wavered, then stopped as if facing a wall of fire. Trembling with rage, Saxon pawed the ground and jabbed his horns into the dirt. Tao followed him, forcing him back with the blinding light.

Frustrated, the bull swung his head from side to side, but Tao kept after him, giving him little chance to rest.

Finally the fire in his eyes was gone. His head drooped. Unable to understand this baffling brightness, the bull bellowed his vengeance to the sky. Panting heavily, his sides heaving, he tossed his head for the last time and left the field of battle. He trailed a cloud of dust across the plains as Tao saw him disappear into the distant herd of bison.

Volt walked over to Tao, followed by Garth and some of the hunters. The big leader shook his head in amazement. “No one has ever defeated Saxon before,” he said. He waved his hand toward the hunters. “Yet the magic was here for all to see.”

Tao's hands were shaking, his heart still pounding. He began picking up the graven stones, the amulets and the bison horn that had fallen out of Graybeard's deerskin pouch. He started to tell Volt there was no real magic. Then he remembered Graybeard's voice. “If they wish to call it magic, then let it be so.”

Volt paced up and down, shaking his spear. “It is the will of the spirits,” he said. “They have given the sign and the word is good.”

Tao stood quietly, trying to catch his breath as he saw the rest of the hunters climb down from the rimrock. Suddenly he heard a sound like muffled thunder, rolling across the plains. It came from far off, in the direction Saxon had gone. A haze of dust rose up all along the horizon as hundreds of great brown bodies came toward them like a gathering storm. It was a living wave of animals, growing larger and larger, shaking the earth.

Volt's eyes grew wide with alarm. “Saxon has stampeded the bison,” he shouted.

Even now Tao could see the host of panic-stricken animals rushing toward them, heads bobbing up and down, rows of curved horns flashing in the sunlight.

“Run,” shouted Volt. “Run!”

Garth and the hunters ran back, scrambling up the face of the rimrock. Tao wrapped his bad foot around the shaft of his spear and started after them. He gained the top of the rock just as the stampeding herd reached the foot of the mound. The mass of brown, shaggy bodies milled about below them, churning up clouds of dust. Choked and blinded, the fear-crazed beasts ran about in circles, bawling, crashing into one another in a wild melee. Some of the animals, crowded by the ones behind them, were pushed over the edge of the cliff and fell to their death on the rocks below.

Suddenly Tao's heart jumped. He did not remember Volt coming up the mound behind him. He looked around. The big leader was not on the rimrock, nor could he see him in the swirling dust below.

Moments passed before the rampaging herd began to collect itself. It turned slowly and began walking back across the plains from where it had come. As he turned, Tao saw a gray blur running across the grass. “Ram!”

But as Tao started toward him, making his way through the settling dust, he saw Volt, dazed and shaken, sitting on the ground beside the body of a dead calf. And not far off was a lone cow bison. The mother.

Quickly Tao started down the rock, jumping from ledge to ledge. He tried to hurry, but he was afraid he would be too late. Halfway down he saw a gray shadow leap from behind the rock and run with him. It was Ram.

Growling and snapping, the wolf dog ran ahead, barking at the shaggy beast, driving it back, as Volt got to his feet.

From the plain Tao came up shouting and twirling the pouch. The bison turned, shaking her head, confused and uncertain. Reluctantly she stepped back, then turned and galloped off across the plains.

Tao rushed over to Ram. The wolf dog was slightly gashed on the shoulder. Tao reached down and pulled up handfuls of grass to stop the bleeding. Then he threw his arms around the panting animal.

Volt's eyes held a wild, vacant stare as he gazed toward the herd of bison now grazing peacefully in the distance. He looked down at Ram, then raised his hairy arms to the sky. “The curse is over!” he shouted. “It has been lifted from my head. It is an omen, a true sign from the spirits.”

Tao sat on the ground, his arm around Ram's shoulder. He knew Volt could never change. The demons and spirits would always rule his life.

“If I had not seen it with my own eyes,” said Volt, “I would not believe it was so.” He looked down at Tao, a strange new expression on his face. “It is too bad your mother does not live,” he said. “She would be happy now.”

Tao turned, surprised by the unexpected words. “You knew my mother?”

Volt clasped his two fat hands together and held them up, making a big fist. “I knew your mother when you were no bigger than that,” he said.

Tao's dark eyes widened. With all his heart he wished to know more. “What was she like?” he asked.

Volt was silent for a moment, looking out across the high plains, lost in his own thoughts. Then he spoke. “She was a tall, fair woman,” he said, “like a young birch tree. Yet she was strong and willful too. She saw things in a way the rest of us did not always understand.”

Tao detected a twinge of guilt in the leader's voice, as if the words were hard to say.

The big man stared at the boy, studying him for a moment. Then he shrugged. “I will tell you no more,” he said. “I will only say this: In many ways she was much like you.”

It was the first time Tao ever heard Volt speak a quiet word. It was strange and unexpected. Yet it was the answer he had been seeking for so long.

He watched as the gruff leader walked away, and his heart pounded fiercely as he shouted the words, “You are my father!”

Volt turned, brushing his scarred cheek with the back of his hand. He glanced over his shoulder, a half smile on his lips as Garth and the other hunters came toward them. “You are a man now,” he said. “You no longer need a father.”

T
hey buried Graybeard in the little cavern high atop the cliffs, overlooking the valley. Tao led the sad procession, with Ram walking by his side. He was dressed in a new deerskin robe, a shiny necklace of lions' teeth around his neck. Volt and the hunters carried the old shaman's body lashed to a frame of birch poles. The clan people followed close behind, the children clapping sticks together, the women wailing and crying.

They laid Graybeard in a shallow grave within the little cavern. Tao placed a spear beside the body, together with a flint knife and a tallow lamp. Kala put in portions of dried meat and nuts to help the old one on his long journey to the land of the spirits. Finally they placed the shriveled body of a pygmy owl in his hands as a token of his wisdom and knowledge.

Tao stood at the foot of the open grave and looked around the cavern. He saw his paintings of the bison and the mountains-that-walk, and he remembered how often Graybeard had wagged his finger at him, making him do his drawings over and over again to make them better. He thought of the times they had spent together sharing salmon strips and roasting chestnuts. He thought of the long walks across the valley, through the Slough and along the shores of the big blue lake. He remembered all this and he felt a dull, aching emptiness in his heart.