The Boy of the Painted Cave Read online

  Volt pushed them aside. “Wait,” he said, “there is a better way.” He pointed off into the darkness where the tops of the oak trees were black against the purple night. “Go,” he ordered, a sneering grin spreading across his face. “You say the rabbit is in the meadow. Go then, find your rabbit in the meadow and do not come back until you do. Maybe then you will learn to keep your mind on the hunting. ”

  Tao got to his feet slowly, brushing himself off. He felt a bitter surge of anger, anger at himself for his own carelessness, anger at these men who would not listen. As he walked out of the camp he saw one of the clan women reach into the fire and pull out a flaming willow torch. She handed it to him and, in the light, Tao saw that it was Kala. He wanted to speak, but she nodded slightly, her deep green eyes warning him to be quiet.

  Slowly Tao made his way through the oak forest until he came to the foot of the cliffs bordering the grasslands. He held his torch high, limping across the dried-out streambed and around the scattered boulders.

  Once or twice he was sure he heard something moving in the grass, but when he turned around all he saw was the dancing shadows of the stunted willow trees.

  He was tired now and hunger gnawed at him. But first he had to find the rabbit. He followed the cliff until he came to the meadow, then looked around for the patch of sand. In the eery light of his torch, the darkness closed in and everything looked the same—the rocks, the bushes, the clumps of grass.

  Finally he found the sand patch and the scuffed-out drawings he had made that afternoon. He poked his spear around in the torchlight and his heart sank. The rabbit was gone. In its place were the pugmarks of a large hyena.

  Now he knew he could not go back to camp, not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, not until he had found another rabbit.

  TWO

  Tao propped his torch against a stone, then gathered armfuls of brushwood and kindling and piled them up near the sandy embankment. He set them afire and threw on more sticks and logs until the yellow tongues of flame licked high into the darkness.

  Except for a few grubs and a handful of dried berries, he had not eaten since early morning, and he felt a dull emptiness in his stomach. Holding his torch high, he searched about under a group of oak trees, looking for acorns. But it was late in the season and the ground had already been picked over by marmots and pigs.

  Just then the gliding shadow of a flying squirrel swooped down from an old dead willow at the top of the embankment. Tao looked up and saw a hole in the scarred white trunk and he knew where he might find a meal. Broken limbs jutted out from the old tree, and it was an easy climb.

  Tao reached into the hole, his fingers groping through the warm nest of leaves and fluff. He brought out handfuls of acorns. Back on the ground, he sat on his heels and cracked them open with a handy stone and picked out the bits of meat with his fingertips. The acorns were dry and tasteless, but they helped to take the edge off his hunger. Next he gathered bunches of dried meadowgrass and spread them out on the sand to make a bed. With the embankment at his back and the warm fire in front, he felt safe from the hyenas and prowling leopards.

  The night air was cool and still. He lay back on his bed of straw, feeling the prickling stems against his back and smelling the sweet odor of the new grass. Except for the short coughing roar of a cave lion far out in the valley and the hiss and sputter of the fire, the night was quiet.

  For a long while he lay awake thinking about his quarrel with Volt and the others over the missing rabbit. The punishment did not bother him, for he had been out alone in the bush many times before and he was not afraid.

  At times like this he often thought of his mother, whom he had never seen, and he wondered what she was like. He closed his eyes and saw a picture of a young girl, with hair the color of honey and a round, smiling face. He reached out as if to touch her, then withdrew his hand. It was only a vision. He wished he could draw her as he imagined her to be, but this would be taboo. Most of all, it was against the laws of the clan to make an image of a person. It would offend the evil spirits.

  Tao shook his head as he huddled down in the loose straw. Why are all these things bad? he wondered. Why is it wrong to draw in the sand, to make a picture on a stone, to be born with a lame foot? Is there nothing good, nothing right? Is this why Volt is always angry? Everything he sees is bad. Kala said she has never seen an evil spirit. If they are real, where do they stay, where do they hide? In the forest, behind the mountains and boulders?

  Just then Tao heard a movement in the tall grass. He jumped up quickly and pulled a flaming torch from the fire. As he looked into the darkness he saw only the moving shadows of the stunted willows. Then, just outside of the glare of his torch, he made out a pair of gleaming eyes. Tao froze and gripped his spear tighter. It could be a prowling cave lion or a leopard. If it was bold enough to come within the light of the fire, he would have little chance.

  He watched cautiously, waiting for the beast to show itself. Slowly he lifted his spear, ready to throw as the yellow eyes came closer. Then he stopped. Fear left him as he made out the thin gray shape of the little wolf.

  The animal cringed and crept up through the grass. Little by little it came into the light of the fire, whining softly. Tao leaned down, clicking his tongue. The animal seemed to be begging for help.

  He had heard about wolf dogs before, that sometimes during bad seasons when they are hungry and half starved they hang about the camps looking for a bone or a scrap of meat, or to lick at the hearth rocks where the fat drips. This one was young and thin as a shadow. If it didn’t find something to eat soon it would die.

  Tao squatted down, talking to the animal softly. “You come back when I have nothing to give you, no food, no meat.”

  The wolf remained silent, watching Tao intently.

  “You must learn to hunt on your own,” said Tao, creeping closer but still not touching the animal. “There is food in the fields and in the woods, voles and mice under the grass, ground squirrels in the meadow. You must sniff them out and catch them.”

  The sound of Tao’s voice seemed to quiet the animal. It whimpered softly and began to creep up on its belly until its coal-black nose was only an arm’s length away. Tao reached out to touch the soft muzzle, but the animal pulled back and bared its fangs. The boy tried again. Once again the young wolf shied away and would not allow itself to be touched.

  Tao sat still, watching, as the animal edged closer. The wolf dog’s ears were laid back, its ribs showed through the ragged gray fur. Tao saw the hunger in the yellow eyes. He saw it in the lean face and in the pale tongue that darted out to lick the thin lips.

  Then, in the flickering light of the fire, Tao saw something else, something glistening white sticking out of the wolf’s mouth. It was not a fang, not a flash of white tooth, but a long sliver of bone jammed deeply into its upper jaw.

  Now Tao understood why the animal refused to eat, why it was so thin and weak. Somehow, in fighting for its food, in pulling or tugging on a piece of meat, a splinter of bone had become lodged in its jaw. Now it could not feed. It could not even hunt.

  Tao crept closer, inching nearer and nearer, reaching out slowly, his hand almost touching the wolf’s muzzle. The little animal did not move. Its yellow eyes caught the firelight and again its lips pulled back in a low snarl. Tao waited, his heart beating fast. Then, with a sudden lunge, he sprang forward and grasped the wolf’s head with one hand and the splinter of bone between the fingers of his other hand.

  The little animal jumped back, yelping and crying. But Tao hung on. Boy and wolf twisted and turned, tumbling across the sandbank. The wolf shook his head, violently opening and closing his jaws, trying to escape. Still Tao held on tight, floundering across the sand as the wolf continued to yelp and thrash about. Suddenly the sliver of bone came loose in Tao’s fingers. The wolf was free. He ran about in circles, whining, rubbing his bloody muzzle in the damp earth.

  “Be quiet,” said the boy. He held up the long splinter of bone, blo
od-smeared, glistening red in the firelight. “Your demon of pain is gone. Now you can eat again.”

  The wolf dog picked himself up, weaving back and forth on unsteady legs. For a long moment he stared at Tao, his yellow slitted eyes shining, his pink tongue licking at the bleeding wound.

  “Go,” said Tao. “Go back to your pack and hunt with your friends. You will soon grow strong again.”

  The little wolf hesitated. Tao saw it look back once or twice. There was a soft rustling of grass as the animal disappeared into the night.

  Tao smiled, but after the wolf dog was gone he felt a sense of emptiness. He was alone again.

  He got up and threw more dried willow branches and a log of birch wood on the fire, enough to last through most of the night. Then he lay down again. He heard the whooping laugh of the hyenas far out on the grassland and he knew they were hungry too. His hand reached out and his fingers closed around the spear lying beside him. He was tired and there was a weariness in his bones and he fell asleep quickly.

  As he slept, Tao drifted off into a narrow tunnel that led into a large cave. On the floor were shells and hollow stones filled with black, yellow and red paints. The walls were smooth and unmarked, waiting for the hand of the painter.

  Tao picked up the red shell and dipped his finger into the oily color. With wild sweeps of his hand he began to paint. His arm moved beyond his control, as if it had a mind of its own. Slowly a bounding red deer took shape, its antlers thrown back, its nostrils flaring as it ran. It leaped over the ground, fear and panic showing in its eyes. Tao put down the red shell and picked up the black one. Once more he dipped his fingers in the paint and began to draw. This time a huge black wolf came forth, racing after the deer. With bounding leaps it gave chase. Great ruffles of fur stood out around its neck and shoulders and a long, waving tail flew out behind it.

  Finally Tao picked up the shell containing the yellow paint. He dabbed it on the wall and suddenly the wolf stared out at him with golden eyes. Tao went on drawing and painting, covering the walls with herds of bison and mammoths, horses and aurochs.

  When he awoke, the sun was coming up over the horizon, the fire was a gray heap of smoldering embers, and the shrill kee-kee-kee of a kestrel came from the branches of the dead willow tree. He rubbed his eyes and glanced around and he knew he had been dreaming.

  He stood up and looked out across the grasslands. The valley was bathed in a golden glow of color. The mountains in the distance were morning green. Here and there small patches of snow marked the last footprints of fading winter. Behind him was the long ridge of limestone cliffs, and on top of that were the flatlands, the high plains.

  He felt the pangs of early-morning hunger and he started out across the valley through the knee-high grass. He stopped frequently to turn over stones and pull up sod in search of ants and grubs. He was used to going long hours without eating, but now he had gone almost two days without food and he was growing weak. He found a few white grubs and plopped them into his mouth, swallowing them whole. He knew they would taste better roasted, but he could not wait.

  Even this was not enough. He would have to find something more. And he knew that if he wanted to go back to camp he would have to catch another rabbit. Once through the grassland he made his way along the edge of the swamp until he came to a thicket of alders and brier bushes. It was dense and tangled with creepers and thorns. He had never been past this place, but beyond, he knew, lay a dark marshland of winding creeks and green forests. The clan people called it the Slough. The elders said it was peopled by demons. The hunters never went there and the women would not dig its roots or harvest its berries lest they become cursed by the evil spirits.

  Tao stood on the edge of this forsaken place and thought of the game and food that might lay within. For a moment the threat of taboo held him back. He limped slowly along the edge, undecided, trying to see beyond the tangle of vines and branches. Then, through the thicket, he heard the grunt of a sow and the answering squeal of piglets. He forgot about demons and evil spirits and pushed his way through the thick briers. Heedless of the thorns that scratched his arms and caught at his deerskin leggings, he plunged deeper. Soon the earth became soft and black, and he smelled the musty dampness of the sluggish creeks and heard the rattling call of kingfishers. The dank woodland was dark and green, with shafts of sunlight filtering through the bare branches of the old hornbeams and willows.

  Tao stopped and glanced around, wondering if the hand of an evil spirit would strike him. But nothing happened. This place looked no more evil or dangerous than many places he had seen before. Gripping his spear tighter, he went deeper. He came to a shallow stream covered with rafts of new watercress. He scooped some up in his fingers and smelled its freshness. He chewed some and found it crisp and sweet. Oyster mushrooms grew in thick clusters on the trunks of dead birch trees, and berry bushes formed dense thickets between the scrub. The mushrooms were shriveled now and the berries were sparse and dry, but he marked the spot in his mind. By late spring the mushrooms would be lush and the berries would be ripe for picking. In another stream he found a bed of freshwater mussels. He lay on his stomach and reached into the icy water and picked some of them out of the mud. With his flint knife he pried them open and ate the soft pink flesh. He was still hungry, but he felt better now and a new lightness welled up within him. Here was food in abundance. He leaned down and tried to catch a lazy suckerfish that was swimming along the muddy bottom of the stream, almost within his grasp.

  Suddenly a hideous shriek echoed through the marshland. Wa-woo-oong-eewoo-oo-wahoo, it went, sending an icy chill racing up Tao’s spine. It came from the far side of the creek. Tao jumped up quickly and stood in frozen silence. He looked across the stream to the clump of dark cedars from where the awful scream had come. If he had never seen an evil spirit before, he thought he was about to see one now.

  THREE

  Tao found a narrow spot along the stream and vaulted across. Picking his way carefully, he crept forward, step by step. He had not gone far when the fiendish scream came again. It was followed by a series of long, hissing sounds and sobbing moans.

  For a moment Tao hesitated, uncertain, his heart pounding. Maybe the clan people were right. Maybe there were demons and evil things in this shadowy place after all. If there were, he wondered, did he really want to see them? He waited, trying to make up his mind. Then he shrugged his shoulders and pushed on again, quietly, cautiously, watching each step.

  As he drew closer, the loud, piercing shrieks continued. They filled his ears and echoed through the sodden marshland. It was a strange, violent sound, one that he had never heard before. He moved carefully, pushing his way through the brier thickets and around clumps of ferns that grew higher than his head. At any moment he expected some evil demon to jump out of the underbrush. His heart leaped as the screams came again. They were only a few paces away now, and they came from a thick growth of bracken ferns near the base of a lone oak tree. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and clutched his spear tightly, a knot of fear in the pit of his stomach. He took a deep breath and pushed his way through the alders. Then he stepped into the clearing, ready to come face to face with the evil spirit.

  Instead he saw a demon with wings, an angry eagle-owl sitting on the forest floor, protecting her nest from the little wolf dog. Even for an eagle-owl she was huge, almost as high as Tao’s waist. She loomed over the wolf dog as he crept in to get beneath her wings. She flew up, snapping her beak, slashing at him with her sharp talons. She hissed and screamed, her brownish-red feathers ruffled up in bristling rage. Her glossy black pupils, ringed with orange, glared back at the wolf, daring him to try again. Once more the wolf rushed in to chase her off the nest. But the owl would not be led astray. She hovered over the three white eggs, protecting them from the hungry wolf.

  For a few moments Tao stood aside, watching the battle.

  He liked the eagle-owl’s fierce courage. “If there be demons,” he whispered, “y
ou must be one of them.” Yet he felt sorry for her too, for now she had a second enemy to face. Besides, he was afraid the little wolf dog might get hurt.

  Tao lifted his spear and leaned forward to push her away. She turned on him in savage fury, beating him with her wings, slashing at him with her curved talons. He threw up his arms to protect his face as she flew at him. Again the wolf dog dashed in to draw her off, but the feathered demon refused to be chased away. Now the boy and wolf took turns, taunting her, trying to divert her attention. Each time they came too close, she turned quickly, screaming, slashing, driving them off.

  Soon Tao and the wolf dog were panting heavily as they tried again and again to reach the eggs. But the owl was tiring too; she was slowing down. She rocked back and forth on her short legs, her wings drooping, weary from the uneven fight. Now Tao watched closely as the wolf dog attacked, each time leading the eagle-owl farther from the nest. Then he saw his chance. On the next rush the big owl lost her balance, floundering on the forest floor. Before she could recover, Tao rushed in and grabbed two of the large white eggs. Without looking back he vaulted away, out of danger. “Come, little friend,” he shouted to the wolf dog. “We have enough for both.” He hobbled off under the trees, the wolf dog following as the owl vented its anger in wild shrieks of rage.

  When they were far enough away, Tao stopped. Panting, he sat down with his back against the trunk of an old birch tree. He cracked one of the eggs on a stone, opened it and dipped his tongue into the thick fluid. It tasted fresh and clean. “It is good,” he said. “The eggs were newly laid.” Then he gave it to the wolf dog. He made a hole in the second one, tilted back his head and sucked out the contents.

  The wolf dog finished his and looked up as if expecting more.

  “No,” said Tao. “We will let the she-owl keep her single egg. The season is early. She will lay more.” He looked down at the little animal. “You are learning to hunt on your own. That is good. But it is not good to fight the eagle-owls. You must find something smaller.”